


Infinite Assjob/Nakadashi/Bukkake Genjutsu

by Tas_tan



Category: Boruto: Naruto Next Generations
Genre: Assjob, Bukkake, Excessive Semen, F/M, Fat Ass, Gokkun, Oppai Loli, Outercourse, Paizuri, Sloppiness, Smegma, Sweat, Titjob, bbm - Freeform, clothed female, facefuck, illusion, musk, obscene proportion, semen on food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:53:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 44,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23694199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tas_tan/pseuds/Tas_tan
Summary: Saburo Enma--an obese and unemployed shinobi of Konohagakure--is a virtually worthless human being. He lives out his days collecting unemployment cheques from the government, doing whatever the fuck in his disgusting apartment, and having the rules of causality bent to place him in abnormal sexual situations with sexually obscene versions of various famous kunoichi.He is the chosen one: the hapless 'wielder' of the Infinite Assjob/Nakadashi/Bukkake Genjutsu.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 84





	1. Chapter 1

**JUNE 24** **TH** **—MORNING**

Of the numerous streets and roads spread throughout Konohagakure, only a scarce few lead into and out from the village’s residential districts. Initially a relic of its initial construction, none of the various ‘incidents’ that occurred within its environs—no matter how destructive or prosperous—offered sufficient motivation for those in charge of the village to set about changing this. As it did not subject the residents of the village to undue harm and failed to create any sort of relevant logistical issue, several generations of Hokage and administrative staff happily ignored the circumstance in pursuit of solving ‘larger issues’.

In keeping with the nature of administrative decisions, their negligence reaped equivalent amounts of good and bad. Limiting the avenues through which residents of Konohagakure might return to their home fostered a spirit of closeness amongst residents who lived within the same district. Sometimes by virtue of their taking similar paths towards their places of work, and other times as a result of their children walking with one another to the village’s shinobi Academy, residents of a given district were all but forced to get to know one another to some extent. 

Differently, the absence of alternative routes in and out of the area sometimes facilitated perversion and indecency in the village’s ne'er-do-well. Given minimal time and planning, a pervert with a specific target (or aim, depending on one’s perspective) could see their goal accomplished by simply traversing the paths over and over again until they happened upon success.

Sometimes, far less effort is required of them. In the case of perverts gifted with especially rare and powerful genjutsus, the prerequisites for accomplishing their aims can often be reduced to strokes of dumb luck. At any given moment and for no reason in particular, that which they desire—consciously or otherwise—is served up to them on a silver platter…

They need only reach out and take it.

For one Saburo Enma, it is often the case that  _ even less _ effort is required. A portly and unsightly male by most standards, the unemployed shinobi avoided leaving his apartment wherever possible. Save the grocery stores and financial aid offices he frequented, the outside world held few sites of value to him—especially during the peak hours of the day.

  
  


In the present, his opinion on the subject of leaving his home had endured a temporary shift. Tempted into running his weekly errands ahead of schedule by the inviting warmth of an early summer morning, Enma departed from his residence at a time wherein the streets of his district were likely to be littered with youths and adults alike. 

Though well aware of this, his thoughts remained firmly fixed on the tasks he was to complete within the economic district. Until he arrived at his destination, those that he came into contact with could be ogled or ignored—just as he was occasionally ‘ogled’ or ignored by them. 

Maintaining this mindset made the beginnings of his trip extremely comfortable. Wise enough to dress himself in the sweat-soaked white wife-beater he had worn to sleep the night before and the same pair of ankle height, moss green trousers owned by most portly shinobi, his indifference to the world around him added a mental comfort to the soothing warmth that shone down on his greasy frame.

As it turned out, however, this trip was one predestined to be anything but comfortable. Minutes into his walk, the sound of footsteps thudding against the ground began wafting out of a side road to his left. Soon after the noise garnered Enma’s attention, its source exploded out from the mouth of the alleyway into his line of sight.

It was Akimichi Chouchou. Engaged in a full sprint with a soft pink satchel clutched between her arms, the chestnut-skinned preteen’s first step onto the main road saw the ankle of her lead foot buckle seemingly out of nowhere. Without its support, the forward momentum she had built up dumped her frame (and the contents of her bag) flat across the road side straight ahead of Enma.

Seemingly unharmed from the fall, she peeled her face off of the road almost as quickly as she had planted it there.

“Ahhh, shimatta! I’m gonna be late for school again!” she grumbled. “All my stuff got spilt, too! This is so embarrassing…”

Though distraught, Chouchou did not abandon her progression to sulk. After pushing herself up into a seated position on her knees, she briefly surveyed her surroundings to determine how much attention she had attracted to herself. Content with confirming that she had not made too large of a laughing stock of herself, she rose to her feet and turned her back to the man whose path she had blocked seconds prior. 

At this, her hands snapped to her hips, and a prideful screwing of her facial features burst to life at her face.

“Alright! I’m gonna collect all this stuff and get going. No one’s gonna do it for me—I gotta be strong n’proactive like Sarada!” she huffed to herself.

Behind this utterance, Chouchou began to lean forward. Dipping her torso down to a 90 degree bend with her waist, she subsequently extended her arms out towards the mess of items ahead of her. Then, she continued to descend. Stopping just short of a 45 degree bend—a taxing but manageable state for a young woman with her body mass—she afterwards focused herself on a painstakingly slow collection of the snack foods and school items she had spilt all over the road…

But not without first shuffling her bent frame far enough backwards to mush the clothed bloat of her ass into the crotch of the male behind her.

Whilst backing up, she briefly swung her left hand up into contact with the peak of her buttocks to peel the lower hem of her kimono completely out of contact with her panty-gloved rear. Leaving the soft white cotton as the only barrier between the milk-chocolate puffiness of her asscheeks, she subsequently (and shamelessly) smothered the crease between the massive half-hearts directly against the center point of Enma’s crotch.

However brazen and wildly out of character for a preteen kunoichi, Chouchou’s display attracted far less attention than her fall did. A great many of the commuting shinobi that passed by the pair did spare the sight a glance, but not one spoke out to condemn the act as inappropriate.

Bluntly, they couldn’t. Just as Chouchou appeared inexplicably content to squish and grind the panty-bitten fat of her ass against the crotch of an older, fatter, and far more unsightly male, those that laid eyes on her doing so were compelled to regard the act as a harmless consequence of Chouchou’s being in a hurry.

Unbeknownst to both parties, their opinions were not entirely their own. From the moment that Chouchou had appeared from out of the alleyway in a flourish of pink cloth and jiggling, chocolate-brown flesh, her senses and those maintained by the individuals around her were rendered ‘indifferent’ by the power of a genjutsu…

One invoked by a man utterly unsurprised by its consequences.

“…Looks like it activated again. None of this would be happening if it hadn’t, but I was honestly starting to wonder for a second there.” Enma thought to himself. “Nothing to do until it wears itself out, I guess. I left early enough, so there shouldn’t be any harm in standing around and enjoying myself. After all, it’s not like any of this is my fault.”

For the most part, the words that Enma uttered to himself were weary. There could be no predicting when his genjutsu would place him in a coincidentally ‘fortunate’ situation, nor could the women made to participate with him be determined in advance. However pleasant, constantly adjusting his daily life to its activation demanded a certain amount of energy from the man—energy that his portly frame could have devoted to other, more practical activities.

This was not to say that he perceived his lot in life to be unpleasant. After well over a year of coincidences, picking out the silver lining in them became all too easy for him. More so in cases wherein the marshmallow-y ass fat of one of the village’s kunoichi ended up compressed against his cock, but in a much more general sense as well.

“…Yeah, exactly. There’s no sense fighting it or stressing myself out.” words calm and instructive, their reverberation inside Enma’s head just so happened to coincide with his extending both of his hands down towards the obese peach of cloth and fat at his crotch. “I’ll just have some fun of my own while Chouchou is collecting her things.”

“I should be careful, though. I dunno what her family is feeding her, but…”

Well ahead of schedule, the descent of his palms saw their spans depressed into the fat-buoyed warmth of Chouchou’s cheeks. Despite making certain to invest minimal force into his grasp, the delicious pliancy offered by their swell saw his fingers impressed far deeper into them than he had expected. His eyes had marked this as a possibility from the moment he laid eyes on the watermelon-sized cheeks bouncing behind Chouchou, but the reality of the situation imposed a sensation so visceral that speaking through it was impossible.

When his fingers’ descent into the flesh of her rear came to an end, the quality of this sensation ebbed off just enough for him to complete the thought that he had started.

“H-Her ass is so much fatter than the rest of her…” 

Upon muttering this fact to himself, Enma’s frame began making use of it in his stead. Following a short bend of his knees (not quite a squat, but deep enough to set his crotch below the center point of Chouchou’s oppression), he began stabbing his crotch upwards and downwards against Chouchou’s ass. Thrusts short and sloped, the pendulum-like motions took no cues from the slow growing monstrosity of cockmeat coiled within his trousers, and remained free from (as much so as possible) alteration by his innate desire to utterly drown the exterior of her buttocks with his seed.

While pleasurable to an extent, these ministrations were more so preparatory than anything else. Far more raw stimulation was required for Enma to derive an orgasm from Chouchou’s frame—stimulation that simply couldn’t be garnered from fucking the bloat her ass through his pants. As this was all that his latest coincidence facilitated, Enma’s frame instinctively selected the most aggressive and purposeful thrusting pattern it could. If direct contact with the moist plush of her asscheeks wasn’t possible, much less a satisfying orgasm, swelling his cock to a point of painful and perpetual erection in preparation for another ‘coincidence’ seemed to it as the next best thing.

To this end, each thrust in the rapidfire grinding chain was made significant by way of complementation. Seconds into the effort, Enma was compelled to sink his fingers even deeper into Chouchou’s rear. On doing so, the depression of his digits into the increasingly sweaty dough-pillows beneath them launched a bolt of euphoria straight into his crotch. 

Though pushed inches closer to his goal of ‘complete’ arousal, Enma acquired far more from the act than a single spike in stimulation. With his grasp on Chouchou’s meat reaffirmed, he pressed the fat of her rear inwards into tighter contact with the span of his crotch. This done, the cock-fattened stretch of cloth covering his crotch went from ‘consumed’ by the excess of her rear to a state sandwiched underneath it.

Suddenly subjected to far more heat, weight, and pressure than before, the growth of Enma’s erection began to accelerate. For each upward spike of his crotch, a sizeable blurt of muddied precum was threaded out to a smothered blurt from the tip of his cock. Per retraction, the blood vessels knitted atop its stinking girth were made more steely, and those with branches became more numerous and obscene. Shortly, by virtue of this change alone, Enma’s cock was fed with the sort of blood flow and stimulation required to aptly simulate sex.

No matter the number he enjoyed it—or something comparable to it—the effect that this sensation had on Enma remained unchanged. Whilst bulbous orbs of sweat began leaking from the exposed pores on his face and arms, thoughts befitting the wildly degenerate activity he was engaging in began flowing through his mind without restriction.

“F-Fuck, h-how old are Genin in this village again? T-There’s no way such a squishy dump truck could be attached to a preteen, right?” he thought, breathing ragged even within his own mind. “I haven’t been paying attention, but if all of them have such stupidly fat asses, maybe what I’m doing is even more justified…”

“A-Anyone in my position would do exactly the same thing if they could. W-What it’s attached to doesn’t matter; wanting to drench such a wobbly jizz-canvas in cock juice is only natural!”

Without warning, the tone of these thoughts became less palliative and far more aggressive.

“M-Maybe if she stays like this, I’ll be able to do it. It’ll take way more time, but I could squeeze everything out once and for all that way. I just need—”

So did Enma’s mindset shift did the manipulation of his genjutsu mutate. Suddenly compelled to do far more than collect items into her satchel at a painstakingly slow pace, Chouchou brought her ‘partner’s’ thrusting motions to a halt with an abrupt backwards popping of her hips. Assflesh drawn along the same path of the motion, all of the pressure that Enma had created between her rear and his crotch was effectively doubled in the space of a second.

To her, the act was meaningless. Several minutes into collecting her things, Chouchou found that the remaining items she had yet to collect had spilled out just slightly further ahead of her reach than the others. To compensate, she simply extended her arms further outwards, and pumped her rear further out behind her to extend their reach.

No mental images depicting the globe-like span of her asscheeks stuffed into a mildly sweat-soaked (and consequentially translucent) pair of panties as pressed up against the crotch of a greasy adult crossed her mind, nor was her innocent mind overcome by the sexual arousal that had thus far overcome her crotch. In her mind, she was simply taking the steps required to finish collecting her things without abandoning the position that she had assumed—nothing more, and nothing less.

As such, she reproduced this flick of her hips without a second thought. Having failed to take hold of her remaining far flung possessions, Chouchou repeatedly bounced her ass back against Enma’s crotch in an effort to give her arms an extra few inches of reach. To compliment her efforts, she took to swiveling her hips around in short, clockwise-shaped circles following impact—an act that failed to give her any more distance, but served as a satisfying catharsis for the exertion that she put herself through. Together, these motions formed a ministration no less pleasurable than an intentional twerking of her ass against Enma’s crotch (or at worst, a reciprocation of his dry-humping). 

Her efforts were not quite the same as her suitor’s, however. In her ignorance was a brutality that Enma could never hope to match. As Chouchou could not perceive the throbbing bulge of cockflesh against her ass (or for that matter, the throbbing peach of drooling cuntflesh at her crotch), each of the motions that she produced were free from the feedback-based ‘alterations’ that Enma’s had endured. In short, no amount of twitching convulsion through her inner walls or starved throbbing from the cock bulge growing against her ass could stymie her ministrations or coax them into a temporary stoppage. From their initiation straight through to a full minute of production, she mercilessly ground and swivelled her buttocks against Enma’s cock with only the completion of her own ‘aims’ in mind.

Unchanged from the moment they had been generated, the goals themselves represented an innocence counterintuitive to the body of the young woman who had generated them.

“Just a couple more items and I can get going…j-just a few…more. Then I can get to school, and before I know it, it’ll be time for lunch and I can try out those sweets dad showed me!” pushing herself through one stretch after another whether successful in taking hold of an item or not, Chouchou’s mind’s eye remained fixated on where she ought to have been even now. 

Dedication aside, reality, or at the very least her perception of it, was not wholly lost on her. Save Enma’s presence, where she was and what she was doing remained just relevant enough to her for a passing thought on the subject to worm its way to the forefront of her consciousness.

“I sure hope no weirdos are looking up my kimono or anything, though. I didn’t see anyone behind me when I came out, but I’ve been bent over like this for a while.” she thought. “It shouldn’t be a problem, but…”

Abruptly, the plopping of her rear back against Enma’s crotch came to an end. Cessated with a firm thud of her ass against his crotch, no further bouncing or swivelling followed…

No matter how fervently the man receiving her efforts wished for it.

“Maybe I’ll just stand upright and grab the rest of them like that? I’m almost done anyway, aren’t I?”

Without a reason to deny herself the alternative, Chouchou pulled herself upright. Unbent, she briefly smoothed and parted her orange hair to repair any damage done to her usual look. Afterwards, and without applying any sort of concentrated attention, she again curled her left hand behind her to peel the bunched up lower hem of her kimono back down over the beginnings of her ass. Returning the fabric to its initial position suckled to the peaks of both cheeks only concealed about half of their panty-kissed bloat to the naked eye; in the first place, this was the position that felt most ‘right’ to her.

Convinced of her decency, she went straight to work collecting the remaining items at her feet. Stepping forward to bring herself closer to each one, she repeatedly bent both of her knees down to a full squat to scoop the items into her arms one by one. When next she rose upright, the seemingly insurmountable mess of items on the street had disappeared inside the embroidered satchel held between her arms.

It was at this point that the reality of Enma’s situation sunk in. Initially too shocked at the sudden disappearance of Chouchou’s weight against his crotch to do anything about the happening, her priming and pruning struck him as a possibility that what he had lost might return to him.

It was not to be. A moment later, Chouchou had already turned on her heel to resume her jog back to school.

Abandoned with only a swollen pipe of cockflesh bundled and his memories of what he had enjoyed, Enma dropped his gaze down at the ground in hopes of concealing his seething from those who passed by him on the street.

Comically, his succeeding in this ended up not having anything to do with the gesture. Those who passed him by were simply too distracted by his sobbing to steal a glance at his face.

-

  
  
  


**June 24** **TH** **—NOON HOUR**

In the wake of the large scale destruction and upheaval brought about by the Fourth Shinobi War, the 6 th Hokage of Konohagakure and his peers at the summits of the other primary villages collectively decided to fund innovation within several sections of society. Whereas certain aspects of each village could be left to tradition (urban planning for example), the sectors selected were those uniformly perceived as being ‘out of date’ relative to the demands of the time. Thus, from transportation to communication, changes were devised, bankrolled, and subsequently innovated over the course of a pair of decades.

Amongst shinobi, one cannot mention this period of innovation without inciting conversation about the train lines set to run through villages, and the economic hubs bordering each one. To streamline travel between major villages, a secure railway system devised by a number of talented engineers was plotted and constructed within a number of years. Simultaneously, business hubs just slightly adjacent to each village were constructed to respond to the growing global population and the increasing need for additional living spaces and business offices.

In the present, these innovations collectively support the daily lives of thousands of shinobi worldwide…

Even overweight degenerates incapable of contributing to society.

Following the completion of his business within downtown Konohagakure, Saburo Enma boarded a train bound for the adjacent economic district (AED). As a part of the village’s unemployed population and a shinobi physically incapable of non-traditional service, trips to the aid offices situated in the new district had become a part of his life. Here, he provided proof of his attempts at searching for employment, and formally collected his support funds for doing so.

Per their description, neither of these tasks were especially difficult for Enma. Shamelessly satisfied with the nature of his existence, the most difficult portion of the activity was almost always the trip itself. Unlike most days, however, the activation of his genjutsu had made his most recent outing his most uncomfortable in recent memory.

The protracted assjob that he received from Akimichi Chouchou was not entirely to blame for this. Though it had served to complicate the beginnings of his day, a second, more trying situation presently served as the primary obstacle to his comfort.

Upon boarding the train back to the core of Konohagakure, Enma found himself squeezed into an especially packed train car alongside none other than Haruno Sakura. Jostled and pushed by those who boarded the train behind him, his opportunities to avoid contact with the older woman were taken from him one after another until a direct confrontation became all but guaranteed.

In fear of the discomfort of an entire train ride spent drawing a gaze of disgust from one of the village’s most ample (and notable) females, Enma’s body reflexively activated his genjutsu the moment her frame fell into his line of sight.

Initially, Enma had believed himself saved by this reaction. Through it, the leer that he directed from the smooth, matronly paleness of Sakura’s face down across the breast-swelled cleavage of her dress went wholly unnoticed by the woman. Though no longer the buxom spitfire that had worked alongside the 7 th Hokage to liberate the village, his eyes could not help but appreciate what the passage of time and the birth of her only child had done to her frame. 

Relative to the photos he had seen of her in her youth, the size of her breasts had at least doubled. Nevertheless packaged into the top-half of the same cardinal-red dress that affirmed her status as a medical practitioner, their E-cup bloat inspired thoughts of constriction and discomfort within his mind. Evidently, she was feeling some amount of it as well. Not only was the skin-tight collar to her dress loosened to expose the flesh of her neck and the beginnings of her cleavage, but the white stiches spread across its right shoulder section had been loosened as well. Through these sights and the perspiration-covered rosiness visible on her face, Enma was presented with an image as natural as it was arousing. Like any other well-endowed woman, a crowded train during the months of summer was Sakura’s worst enemy.

Right as his eyes finished taking in this image, the forward momentum imposed by the riders at his back disappeared. Left chest to chest with the comfortable squishiness of Sakura’s breasts, Enma presumed that his train ride could now be spent savoring the comforts of his position whilst mentally masturbating to the visual qualities of her face.

He presumed incorrectly. Though Sakura remained blissfully ignorant to his presence even after the train departed from the station, the presence of those that surrounded them was as real to her as ever. 

She was not yet comfortable, either. She couldn’t be—not with a support pole pressed up against her crotch.

“God, I hate the train during rush hour. People just don’t have any manners at this time of day…” she complained, internally. “Don’t they see that I’m pushed up against one of the support polls? If the train starts to shake, I’m going to end up grinding my breasts against it for fuck sake’s!”

Gritting her teeth in displeasure, Sakura called upon all of her poise as an adult in an attempt at holding herself in position. But, just as she had predicted, the speed of the train and the quality of its tracks resulted in a regular mushing of her breasts against the stinking ‘pole’ ahead of her face. Incensed beyond her capacity to manage it within seconds, she disregarded those who had subjected her to this fate with a forceful 180 degree rotation of her frame. As she turned, she bent her arms at the elbow and pushed them away from her frame to force those around her to give her space. Once at its end, she compressed the dress-swelling fat of her ass directly against the pole section that had smothered her crotch. 

This she managed without a hint of shame. Bolstered by the idea that those around her were unlikely to peer below her waist, she intentionally depressed the pole section behind her rear straight into the crease set between her cheeks’ ridiculous swell. Indifferent to the sight she was creating, she backed herself up against its warmth and…twitching (?) could be felt against the buttocks flesh nearest her holes.

Now both comfortable and satisfied, a smug grin meant for those who had smothered her was pushed through a vivid bloom across her lips.

“There, that’s better. I’d better not feel any of these jerks shove me back, either. You can’t push a woman on a train and expect her not to push back!” she huffed to herself. “Now all I have to do is get through this without melting from the heat. Easier said than done, but it’s not like I have much of a choice anyway…”

“Ugh, whatever.” steeling herself before she could slip into a fit of childish sulking, Sakura scanned her eyes across her surroundings until she caught sight of the outside world through a fraction of one of the train car’s window. 

Training her eyes on it whilst wiggling her rear back against the pole behind her, she loosened her lips to turn the smirk on her face into a smile.

“I’ll be home before I know it. Then I can take a nice cool shower, Sarada will come home, and…”

“Everything will be fine.” she concluded.

Not a minute into her frustrated revulsion, Sakura discarded these emotions in favor of a tranquil calm. Later allowing her eyes to droop shut and the musculature of her frame to slacken, she accepted the bumpiness and humidity of her train ride as an environment befitting a pleasant bout of daydreaming.

Without the barrier of her consciousness to protect them, Sakura’s mind and body were completely consumed by the genjutsu of a man she had failed to even perceive. Already aroused from Chouchou’s participation hours prior, her acquiescence saw him subjected to a second assjob produced between the succulent fat of Sakura’s ass and the irregular motion of the train car’s interior.

Enma’s experience with the coincidences created by his genjutsu was such that discerning these things (the train’s motion and Sakura’s ass) apart from one another in relation to it (the genjutsu) was not especially difficult. Having watched Sakura throughout her silent struggle against the confines of the train, the fixed ‘path’ that she had been set on was conveyed to him in full. There could be no questioning whether or not the meat of her ass would end up swallowing his cock; the only real question was when the happening would occur.

Her ass was different. Unaffected by the quality of his genjutsu, the obese, dress-fattening peach went unaltered from Sakura’s presenting it to its balmy encapsulation of the monstrous cock-bulge at the crotch of his trousers. Heavier, fatter, and far more jello-like than the maddening flesh dumpster that Chouchou had carried behind her, its qualities struck Enma as sumptuously and appropriate relative to the rest of her aged frame. It was not the taut and bubbly rear of a budding young woman, nor the flabby, unappetizing flesh sac so often affixed to the geriatric. As far as he could tell with his crotch, it was a perfect mixture of wobbling fat and flesh complimented with just enough muscle-tone to package the combination into the beach-ball-like roundness that appealed most to the male eye.

No genjutsu could create such a mouth-watering pair of spheres—of this much Enma was certain.

It could, however, manipulate such a rear with the same punishing efficiency of a cock-starved woman. When the rhythmic rumbling and shaking fed into the train car coaxed Sakura’s frame into a regular right-left swaying against his front—motion that mashed the trapped meat of his cock between her asscheeks as a wrecking ball flung between walls of heated dough—Enma was not at all surprised by the stimulation that was repeatedly heaped against his member. 

In fact, he had expected something considerably worse. Executed with just enough force and frequency to simulate intentional action from Sakura, the swaying of her rear teased his meat  _ consistently _ as opposed to doing so aggressively. Compared to the feverish twerking that Chouchou had produced hours prior, the stinging pressure driven against his glans and phallus trunk seemed to him as something that he could tolerate…

But only for a time. Between the thinness of his trousers and the heavy, undoubtedly sweaty warmth exuded by Sakura’s buttocks, Enma was forced to perceive the asscheeks that had consumed his cock as a female ‘orifice’ far more potent than its composition may’ve suggested. Worse still, the relatively vertical alignment of his cock (as much so as the crotch of his trousers could facilitate before slanting the organ off towards his left thigh) meant that a much higher percentage of its nerve endings were subjected to compression into the endless pudginess of Sakura’s assflesh. However measured the motions that assaulted him, refraining from an orgasm whilst dogged by such conditions was not a task that he believed himself to be capable of.

Nevertheless, this task was all that remained for him. Second after second, the train’s motions squeezed his erection against one of Sakura’s cheeks just tightly enough for him to imagine what the sweat-glazed pillows might feel like as applied to the raw flesh of his cock. Within a minute, discerning her left cheek as different from the right became impossible. To the enflamed monstrosity of reeking cockmeat at his crotch, both cheeks constituted the very same thing: a half of a cock-milking whole that existed for the purpose of making him blow a chunked load of cock juice into his pants.

Poor as his odds of survival appeared, Enma did not stop resisting. Consequentially, the end of his fifth minute on the train pushed his face and frame to a new peak in sweaty unsightliness. Whilst a distinctly jizz-thick precum erupted from the nose of his member for each left-right sandwiching his cock was subjected to, heavy globules of sweat pressed through his pores further soaked the clothing he had worn out for the day. 

  
Not surprisingly, doing so ‘tranquilly’ was impossible. As his body rebelled against the demands of the murky weight that continued to grow within his crotch, his mind was infected with thoughts both realistic and sex-charged in direct sequence with one another.

“I-It’s even better than Chouchou’s was. I don’t even have to move, but the fat of her ass is sucking my cock through her clothes…” Enma thought to himself. “It’s so heavy and squishy it feels like my cock is going to melt before I even cum. If it weren’t for us being on this train, that wouldn’t be so bad. I-If we were anywhere else…”

Though the majority of these thoughts were uttered in passing, some represented desires that Enma wished to realize in spite of his circumstance. On uttering the latest of them, his eyes again slipped downward into a concentrated gaze at Sakura’s ass.

If only for a moment, the wobbling peach appeared naked to him.

“F-Fuck, I could blow everything right between her cheeks. I could clog her asscheeks with my cock juice, and maybe even stuff myself into her ass!” he mused, grinning. “I bet her insides would milk out everything, too. Even without my genjutsu, her ass is just built for taking cock!”

To Enma, uttering these things to himself was an act of catharsis. Moving his hips in response to the swaying of Sakura’s frame remained an option even now, but doing so was certain to result in his cock exploding within seconds of the act. Thus, imagining himself doing so and talking himself through the potential consequences for his actions seemed to him as a passable compromise.

Regrettably, fixating himself on these thoughts quickly proved to be a double-edged sword. Contrary to the implications of its functionality, Enma’s genjutsu was not some whimsical force that operated outside of his sphere of control. Manipulating it at will and controlling its intensity were feats likely to remain beyond him for as long as he lived, but ultimately, the ‘root’ from which it stemmed was Enma himself. No matter how impossibly potent or beyond its generator’s control, this fact guaranteed the portly male influence over a percentage of its functionality—one just large enough to make a difference were he to ever proactively take hold of it.

Though  _ actively _ utilizing this percentage was beyond his capacity as a shinobi, doing so subconsciously—perhaps as a result of a strong surge in emotion or thought—remained as possible for him as it would have been for someone far more talented.

In his perverse fixation on Sakura’s ass, Enma did precisely this. Replaying an imagined loop of what the older woman’s ass might look like bouncing and swirling against his exposed erection brought an abbreviated version of this to pass before he could even recognize what had occurred. 

Coaxed from her pleasant daydream, Sakura was abruptly compelled to adjust her leaning position against the support pole behind her. Believing her actions to be a result of some whim within her, she wrapped her right arm back around the pole a point several inches above the peak of her shoulders. Subsequently, she rotated her torso back towards it as if orienting herself to look back at an individual behind her.

Now facing the poll’s exterior and the turned back of another train rider, her mind produced validation for these motions all on its own.

“Whew. I must’ve dozed off for a bit there. My back and hips feel a bit tight now.” she thought. “I-I’ll just stretch for a little bit. There are only a few stops left, I think, so I don’t think anyone will really notice…”

Whether or not someone noticed was not relevant to her—not as she was presently, anyway. Before completing this utterance, Sakura began ‘stretching’ her lower body in the best way that she knew how. Without shifting her line of sight away from its dead-on stare at the pole behind her, she flicked her hips further backwards, and began swirling them from left to right in an abbreviated figure-8 pattern. Timed to the inexplicable left-right rocking of the train car, the motions that she produced saw the wriggling pole between her cheeks proactively kneaded against a much larger percentage of her asscheeks’ fat. Hardly a relevant point given its being inanimate, Sakura was spared even a hint of shame whilst mushing and grinding her rear against it.

She was simply stretching. One could construe the swirling of her hips as perverse if they observed it for long enough, but on such a crowded train, the odds of such a person existing were slim. Thus, there was nothing for her to worry about…not until she arrived at her stop, anyway.

“Ahhh…that feels better already. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been leaning on it for so long, but this pole actually feels really warm against my butt…” donning a smile framed by cheeks reddened by embarrassment, Sakura’s musing on the situation did little to mitigate the narrow aggression of her swirling. “It must be my imagination. The only thing I could be feeling is my own body heat, right?”

The difference between reality and her perception of it could not have been starker. In this reality, the peaks and valleys of her swirling motions oppressed the trapped bulk of Enma’s cock with a vehemence that forced thicker wads of precum out from its nose. As the environs into which the sperm-tinged resin had been dumped was already riddled with the substance (i.e. the surface of his glans and the sections of his boxers most immediate to his cocktip), this resulted in a great deal of the stinking substance bleeding through the soaked fabric into contact with Sakura’s ass. 

It was from here that the warmth Sakura ‘imagined’ stemmed. Over time, her repeated swivelling extracted a volume of precum sufficient to mildly soak the entirety of Enma’s crotch in the substance. Albeit not to the extent that prolonged contact might see a stain transferred to the backside of her dress, the life-tinged warmth embedded into the substance remained lively enough to be felt through her garment’s fabric. None the wiser to this fact, Sakura continued driving her hips through its looped ascents and descents without a care in the world.

For Enma, this disregard amounted to a dream come true. For whatever reason, reality had decided to absolve him of all responsibility as to how his time on the train would end. The orgasm that he had imagined Sakura’s ass inducing in him was now only seconds away—all that he needed to do was stand and immerse himself in the fantasy that was playing out ahead of him.

Sakura was looking at him. Sakura was grinding her ass back against his cock just for him. She wanted him to spill a disgustingly thick load all over her—

_ “We are now arriving at: Konohagakure. Please allow those disembarking to exit the train before boarding. _

And then she wasn’t.

As quickly as her ministrations had surged to a peak in sex appeal, Sakura ceased moving entirely. Attention redirected towards her surroundings by the voice piped into the train car’s interior, motion from the nameless riders surrounding them saw her step forward and dislodge his cock from between the swell of her ass. Following the crowd of individuals making their way off of the train, it was not long before her back disappeared into the sea of color and frames making their way off of the train.

Yet again, Enma was left dumbstruck. The train riders behind him were growing restless, and the train itself was growing emptier; it would only be a matter of time before he had to move.

In spite of this, he remained still…

All the while hoping that death would take him before his frustrations did.

-

  
  
  


**June 24** **th** **—AFTERNOON**

  
  


In general, Enma believed himself to be very familiar with the concept of suffering. Being an overweight degenerate in a world riddled with talented and proactive individuals, merely existing had once required that he embrace discomfort as a part of his daily life. None would regard him as useful, and for the most part, the world was better off without him. Worse still, he lacked the desire to change this. Even before it became apparent that he had been born with a novel genjutsu, he had spent his days in contentment with his worthlessness. If such a circumstance did not represent suffering, one that might was truly beyond him.

Only just over halfway through the latest day of his life, reality had again deemed it fit to educate him as to his ignorance.

This was suffering. The days that he had spent wasting away inside his apartment were certainly unpleasant, but they could never hope to compare to a day spent having his dreams torn from him moments before their realization. Whereas the days he had spent in obscurity were free from discomfort, this one had left him to waddle through the streets of his home with a perpetual erection and a volume of semen inside his balls far too fat to be comfortable.

There was nothing to be done about his situation, either. Having nearly attained an orgasm at the hands of two of Konohagakure’s largest and softest asses, the odds of his genjutsu activating for a third time were slim to none. What remained for him now was a sullen procession back to the humid confines of his apartment…

After a short stop at the grocery store, of course

However debilitating the contents of his day, the fact remained that no one was waiting for Enma to return home. Feeding himself with a premade meal and stocking up on instant ramen on occasion were necessary if he was to survive. 

Pushed onward by the yellow glow of the impending afternoon, Enma shuffled his way across the street leading back towards his residence before breaking off to take a left towards the grocery store. Several minutes of absent-minded waddling later, the familiar, hum-infused quiet of the store replaced the hiss of cicadas that flowed into his ears from all sides. Dead to the sensation all the same, his pattern of progression did not change. Much like a reanimated corpse, learned habit carried his sweat-drenched frame through one aisle after another in search of the sustenance he had come to rely on.

It would have done so perpetually—were it that this what fate had planned for him.

Whether he recognized it or not, such monotony simply didn’t suit his existence.

“Ugh, fuck! Who built these stupid shelves? Do they really expect a normal sized person to actually get anything off of them?” Temari exclaimed. 

At the mouth of an aisle containing the majority of the store’s instant meal options, Enma laid eyes on yet another notable figure in the conglomerate of modern Konohagakure. This was none other than Nara Temari: a married import from Sunahagakure, and by proxy, a close acquaintance of the current Hokage.

If not for her voice, Enma wasn’t certain he would have recognized her. Like most of the kunoichi responsible for the resolution of issues throughout the past decade, Temari’s appearance had adopted softer tones and compositions befitting her current station as a mother. Blonde hair arranged to conceal a fraction of her face with an arc of hair whilst a pair of jagged buns bordered the back of her skull, Enma presumed at a glance that she was a ways off from the volatility of her youth.

Her body supported this presumption as well. Presently in the midst of reaching for a shelved item on her tip-toes, the back of her frame was presented in full the moment he turned his attention to her. Though not much taller than she had been as a young adult, the rounded, beachball-sized peach of assflesh snugly wrapped underneath the fabric of her violet kimono was much, much larger than Enma had recalled it being. Wobbling amply each time Temari surged upwards in an attempt at grabbing what she desired from the shelf, even a man less desperate for an orgasm was likely to find it difficult to take their eyes off of her.

This was what Enma told himself as his frame carried him towards the struggling kunoichi. Firm in his stride and calm in posture, the zombie-turned-human brought himself as far as the floor space directly behind her before speaking out to draw her attention.

As he did so, his hands snapped straight down to the waistline of fabric at his hips.

“Here, do you need some help with that?” Enma began, tone as innocuous as the fat surrounding his throat would allow. “I’m not sure I can do much better, but it’s worth a shot, right?”

Addressed, Temari snapped her skull back behind her in preparation to yell at the person who had commented on her plight. She didn’t, however. After setting her eyes on the portly, simply-dressed man behind her, all of her attention was consumed by the submarine of reeking, need-swollen cockmeat that extended away from his crotch.

She had never seen anything like it. Her husband’s shaft was far from unimpressive; banter with her girlfriends had essentially assured her as much. Still, this one offered no parallels to the endowment that had impregnated her. Nearly a foot in length (if not several inches longer if her eyes were not deceiving her), the staff’s clay-colored complexion went unaltered from its knob-thick glans down to the gravid testicles that hung from its root. Bisected across both its top and bottom halves by a urethra as thick as her thumb, trailing her eyes across it revealed the existence of several comparably pudgy blood vessels that branched off from its exterior. Each thick enough to inspire thoughts of a pudgy tendril or an overfed slug, their lining the surface of his cock made the grotesque phallus much more imposing in her eyes.

Dimensions and texture aside, it was far from clean. Visible at its tip was a sizeable bulb of discolored precum. Just slightly below it, a smattering of yellow-white cockfilth undoubtedly baked for weeks on end could be seen gloving the inches of his cock beneath his glans.

To some extent, Temari felt as though she should have been disgusted. Nothing about the erection fell within her preferences—not the speakable ones, at least. As well, she was in public; there was no place for nudity in a grocery store visited by families.

But she wasn’t disgusted. She wasn’t anything at all—just indifferent.

“Sure, thanks. I’d really appreciate it.” replied Temari. “I know you don’t work here or anything, so after this, we should see if we can find someone who actually does. It’s not right for us as customers to have to work this hard just so we can pay money in the end!”

Donning a wide and toothy grin, Enma responded to the blonde’s suggestion with a weighted thrust from his crotch. Swinging his bare erection into contact with the pert bubble of flesh that constituted Temari’s rear, he subsequently tipped his upper body inward to press a fraction of his body mass against her back. In doing so, the unruly mass of his member overwhelmed her kimono’s hold on the flesh of her asscheeks, and forced the fabric inward to allow his cock to sink straight between them.

Now where he wished to be, Enma produced an utterance far too apt to have come from the same sweaty, sex-starved man of minutes prior. 

“Oh, for sure. I’m really going to try my best to grab that box, though. If you could stay put while I do it, that’d be really helpful. Getting to lean against your back makes all of this a lot more comfortable.”

To this, Temari simply smiled.

“No problem. Just try your best, okay?”

Cued to the last word that she produced was an impressively forceful outward popping of Temari’s hips. Angled for the purpose of further engulfing Enma’s shaft between her buttocks, the effort saw the entirety of its girth engulfed into the heated embrace offered between the inner sides of both her cheeks. 

Her hip movement did not stop here. Once certain that her efforts had swallowed all of the throbbing, greasy warmth exuded by her suitor’s cock, Temari began sliding her rear back against the monstrous organ she had consumed as if attempting to scale a steep slope set behind her. Beginning at the ‘foot’ of this slope, she grinded her cheeks up along a path shaped like a hook. Marking the peak of her ascent at a point that choked Enma’s glans at the mid-point of her cheeks’ grasp, she subsequently depressed her ass back down along the slope with the same amount of force.

In this ministration was the exact brand of stimulation that Enma needed most. Throughout her rear’s ascent, a cock-siphoning pressure tuned to drag even the thickest seed imaginable out of his balls was drawn from the root of Enma’s cock through to its tip. During its descent, all of the phallus-clogging precum welled within his length throughout the day was ‘juiced’ from his shaft by the very same pressure. While the former act’s consequence went unseen, the latter repeatedly coincided with dense blurts of precum erupting into a haggard drizzle down along Enma’s member (and to a lesser extent, the fabric grasping Temari’s ass).

After completing a single stroke, Temari repeatedly scaled and descended her ‘slope’ at a pace reminiscent of a torrid bout of sex. Within a half dozen of the cheek-skewering motions, she found herself compelled to turn her head back towards her benefactor and gauge his opinion on all of the ‘nothing’ that she was doing.

She was doing this for him, after all.

“How’s that? I’m not in the way like this, am I?” she asked, a strained breathiness to her voice.

Standing idle and allowing this sensation to torture his cock until it burst crossed Enma’s mind for a moment. Such was the extent of the cock-teasing he had endured that a heavy orgasm was all that he desired in the moment—cause be damned.

His genjutsu had other plans. Intent on seeing its most aggressive realization of Enma’s desires used to the fullest, all thoughts of motionless acceptance were purged from his mind at once.

Now was his time. 

Under the pretense of reaching up to take hold of what Temari desired, Enma began swinging his crotch back and forth in time with her hip strokes. Deepening his erection’s grind against the succulent, sweat-smeared fabric that surrounded it, he drew the peaking of his shaft from between her ass’ cleavage up to a point several inches higher, and forced a larger percentage of his cock trunk down between it whenever Temari slid herself downward.

Mere seconds of meeting Temari’s motions with his own returned the ‘bursting’ sensation packed into his crotch to the same severity he had felt whilst on the train with Sakura. Dogged by it, he couldn’t hope to last much longer than another minute.

And yet, he continued to thrust.

“Y-Yup, doing great! I-I think I almost have it!” Enma replied, wearily “Just a l-little…”

  
  


“B-Bit…”

“More!”

Comically, Enma did not even have this to give. Several thrusts into what was to be his final salvo, his body began to rebel in earnest. Tested beyond its limits by the near misses it had endured throughout the day, his phallus and testicles collectively opted for the path of least resistance as opposed to the strenuous hellscape promoted by their owner. 

  
  


A single additional thrust was all that they could stand. When Enma’s cock was stuffed back up through the moistened grasp established by Temari’s rear, the sensation squeezed through its meat destroyed the seal at the root of his cock and initiated a volcanic ascent of steaming cock juice through his urethra. Backed by a borderline hydraulic pressure, the meaty strand bloated each and every section of urethra it passed through before finally leaping out into a dead-on bisection of Temari’s back. Beginning with its impact against the blonde hair at the back of her skull, a curdled line of the substance was drawn against the fabric covering it (her back) straight down past the lower reaches of her tailbone.

Qualitatively, it was precisely what it ought to have been. Several days without a potent orgasm prior to the day’s events, Enma’s overactive testicles had compounded excess nutrients and genetic material against themselves in hopes of further stretching their capacity to contain the substances. Primed for release and denied discharge twice in the same day, the end result of their stockpiling became a nauseating volume of mildly-discolored semen with the weight and viscosity of a porridge-based resin. Crammed into a reservoir just barely able to maintain it, the first strand of the substance to free itself from his frame was backed by a force as abnormal as the substance itself was chewy and curdled.

Taken aback by his frame’s sudden betrayal, the ejection of this strand coaxed a feral bellow out of Enma’s throat before he could even recognize that it had been placed. 

“Guuuogh!! G-Got it, Temari! Just a few more seconds and I’ll have covered everything with my cum!!”

So did his lips produce this claim did his phallus and balls begin fighting to make them a reality. Not a second after his first thread of cum was pasted against the fabric of Temari’s kimono did another similarly fat strand of the substance burst from the tip of his shaft. This one backed by a pressure just slightly less definite than the last, the height that it attained and the position at which it was set differed greatly from the first. Delivered just high enough to flatten the jagged tufts of blonde hair off to the right of the back of her head, its contents were draped from this point down across those of the first.

The angled ‘X’ shape formed by these strands did not persist for long. One after another, similarly addled strands wriggled through Enma’s erection into similarly jagged deliveries across Temari’s upper and lower back. Occasionally fatter than they were lengthy (or vice versa), their haphazard flopping atop one another quickly made it appear as though a child had heaped glutted handfuls of papier-mâché against her back without a particular ‘design’ in mind. Streaks were covered by streaks, and the gaps created between the strands were eventually filled in by especially portly and congested blurts of nut.

For a time, the ‘canvas’ of threads offered by Temari’s back proved a sufficient container for the semen that Enma had stockpiled within himself. Bit by bit, the purple threads that comprised the smooth garment were strained, and subsequently obscured underneath some volume of his release. To the naked eye, it seemed as though a melted cheese infused with mucus had been drizzled atop its surface as a bizarre condiment. Eventually, though, the continued outflow of semen from the nose of his shaft began to suggest that a second, more sizeable dumping ground might be required to contain it.

Simply put, the jizz strands released from his member were far too large. Several seconds of release had done little to trim their fat or curtail the frequency of their release. Though not so bulbous as to reject compilation against the mess made at Temari’s back, the weight that they added to the mess carried the potential to induce a sluggish avalanche of the substance down across Temari’s ass.

As was suggested, this avalanche occurred shortly after the clotted semen plastered to Temari’s back acquired its second layer. With this, the continued outflow of semen from Enma’s member resulted in gharish ‘chunks’ of the streaming substance falling down into a quizzically fluid drizzle down across the face of Temari’s ass cheeks.

Captured in their descent were what few fluid like qualities that tadpole-riddled much still contained. Collision with the edge of the peak of Temari’s cheeks saw the contents of these chunks divided into several rivulets. Carried away from one another by gravity at a snail’s pace, these strands saw individual threads of protein-fattened cock juice drawn over the purple-wrapped orbs as a form of perverse embroidery. 

Like the mess applied to Temari’s hair and back, the continuation of Enma’s release saw the number of these descending strands pushed into the realm of the obscene. For every chilling *Blort* of semen against semen at her back, dollops of semen were delivered into contact with the surface of her ass and drawn into similarly staining descents across the face of each of her cheeks.

Unlike her back, however, the growth of the mess spread across her ass failed to utterly consume the surface area it had been provided with. As Enma’s release ebbed towards its conclusion, the number of wadded semen stains visible atop Temari’s ass only made it seem as though her cheeks were  _ partly _ inundated with substance.

Nevertheless, when at last Enma’s final blurt of semen cleared the nose of his urethra, discerning the violent of her kimono from the murky yellow that surrounded it became far more difficult a task than was worth completing.

Even Enma—the man responsible for this mess and all of the others made on Temari’s clothing—did not bother savouring the sight for what it was. Following the end of his orgasm, the elation soaked into his mind was so significant that his grasp on where he was and what he was doing was nearly non-existent. The airy lightness within his crotch, the dull throbbing inside of his erection; every sensation he had desired throughout the day (and several others he hadn’t expected) now contributed to numbing him to the very same reality he had changed for himself.

Conversely, the young mother responsible for his bliss had yet to lose so much as an inch of her footing in ‘reality’. A sweaty blush could be seen in her cheeks and forehead, but the expression underneath them remained expectant and inviting—the exact combination that one might project in anticipation of benefiting from another’s hard work.

The moment Enma’s hands descended from the shelf above them with the case of ramen she desired, Temari squeezed herself out from underneath his body mass with a smile on her face.

“Hey, you did it! Thanks again for working so hard, I really owe you one!” she chirped. Reaching forward with both hands, she smoothly received the case from Enma’s lifeless grasp without once dipping her gaze down at the drooling erection at his crotch. “I’ve got to get going now, but if you ever need a quick favor from Shikamaru, just tell him you were the guy who helped me at the grocery store, alright? I’ll make sure he helps you with whatever you need!”

Enma neither acknowledged Temari’s gratitude, nor the grinning departure that followed it. Were it not for the fact that she turned her back to him as she left, she very well could have excused herself without his even noticing. At this, his eyes fell to the ludicrous volume of semen matted from the back of her skull down to the ridiculous protrusion of her ass.

Seeing this, his thoughts turned to a topic long since abandoned in favor of sexual stimulation:

Perhaps the day had not been so bad after all.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Enma Gets a Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saburo Enma's genjutsu fuelled adventures continue. Follow his suffering as he attempts to find employment after however-many-years not working, ends up at a concert, has his cock sandwiched between ridiculously over-proportioned versions of Hinata and Hanabi, has his cock sloppily throated by Tenten by accident and...
> 
> Some other stuff.

**AUGUST 1ST** **—** **EARLY AFTERNOON**

“…Aaand done. You’re all set, man. You start a week from today, but if you need me to push the date back a bit, just let me know, alright? No sense rushing it if you’re not ready to dive in head first.”

Somehow both loose and cordial, Nara Shikamaru punctuated his utterance with an outstretching of his hand towards the male ahead of him. Grinning as only he could, he suspended his arm in midair in hopes of eventually drawing him to reciprocate.

“It’s pretty admirable for you to want to get back into the swing of things after being out of work for so long, Saburo-kun. When I heard from my wife that someone might be calling in a favor in a few weeks, I had honestly expected someone a lot younger.” he continued, confidently. “I know my fair share about laziness, so I’m sure you had your reasons for being like this for so long. Go in there on Monday with your head held high—if anyone gives you trouble, you come see me again.”

Only so much understanding could be heaped upon Enma before his anxiety demanded that he respond to it. Reaching out with his right hand to meet Shikamaru’s left, he briefly shook the limb whilst doing his utmost to project the same sort of confidence that had been displayed towards him. Then, within seconds of the display, he released Shikamaru’s hand to gesture towards the office door behind him.

“I-I’ll do my best.” Enma wheezed. “Thanks again for your help, Shikamaru-san. I’ve got to get….uh…g-going for now, but I’ll let you know if anything happens…”

With this, Enma departed without allowing his benefactor another word. Gaze cast towards the floor, he hurriedly shuffled his way from out of the pristine office he had been drawn through and across the seemingly endless expanse of the building floor that surrounded it. Progressing with only instinct as his guide (i.e allowing himself to make many a wrong turn as he went), he did not halt his brisk waddle until he arrived inside the corridor wherein one could call the building’s elevator up the floor.

Here, the tightness that had consumed his frame disappeared, and his line of sight inched back up to a direct observation of his surroundings.

The corridor was empty—just the way he liked them.

“I always knew that places like this existed, but seeing them up close is pretty nerve-wracking...” he thought to himself, legs carrying his frame over to the switch panel responsible for calling the elevators. “All kinds of important shinobi probably move in and out of this building all day. If that Shikamaru guy is here, I’m sure the Hokage must come here sometimes as well…”

Whilst daydreaming, Enma’s idly depressed a smooth, circular button embedded into the panel’s face with his thumb. This button set beneath another an inch or so above it, dumb luck facilitated his calling an elevator to take him back to the building’s ground floor as opposed to one headed upward.

Right up until the elevator’s arrival, Enma’s internal mumbling continued uninhibited.

“…I wonder if using that favor from Temari was a good idea, though. The aid office didn’t really give me a choice, but maybe it would have been better if I just went to a construction site or something…”

Per usual, Enma’s concerns focused on one of the ‘events’ that his genjutsu had created several weeks prior. Despite Temari showing no signs of recalling what had occurred after he had coating her ass with his semen, he could not help but feel a certain amount of discomfort whilst revealing himself to her husband. In a world dominated by ‘what-ifs’, the possibility of her remembering everything about their time together and relaying it to her husband made him feel as if he had signed his own death warrant by meeting with the man.

Whilst his mind continued fretting about the subject, the arrival of an elevator to his right drew his feet into a mindless shuffle inside of it.

“No…no, that doesn’t make sense. She can’t remember something she didn’t see happen. The genjutsu makes it seem like nothing is special happening to them, so the only things she’ll remember are where I was and what I helped her with.” he reasoned. “So, yeah…I guess I have nothing to worry about. I’ll just take this job, and try to avoid the two of them in the future. That way I won’t worry…”

Having shelved his earlier concerns, the world around Enma quickly became more vivid. Still facing forward, the sharpening of his vision revealed that the elevator he had entered wasn’t empty. To his immediate left within the cramped box was Hyuuga Hinata, and to his right her sister, Hyuuga Hinabi: the wife and cousin of the current Hokage respectively.

“S-So much…”

At the sight of them, his anxiety surged. The thought that he had started to utter was cessated as a stuttered whisper, and the sound of his throbbing heartbeat began to drown out all others chirped out into the elevator’s airspace.

This was not an overreaction; it was already too late.

“Yes, but that’s what I’m saying, nee-san. The kids are getting older, so you should be getting freer. You don’t just want to be a housewife with a jello ass for the rest of your life, do you?” from the nothingness of his own thoughts, the sound of Hanabi’s voice was the first fraction of ‘reality’ to hit his ears in minutes. “You’ve got the beauty part covered—no one in the village can deny that. I’m just saying that you’d be doing even better if you got back to training like you used to, y’know?”

Flustered by her sister’s comments to an extent that only Hyuuga Hanabi could manage, Hinata turned her nose up at these comments. Head tilted upwards and eyes closed by a mixture of frustration and embarrassment, the serene poise that so often defined her presence was nowhere to be seen.

Presently, she was what she appeared to be: a mild older sister being teased by her more aggressive younger sister.

“I’ll have you know that I  _ do not _ have a jello ass, Hanabi—N-Naruto told me so.” Hinata retorted “Also, I don’t really mind the way I look now. I-I’ll admit that I’m maybe not as…slender…as I was when we were younger, but there are certain things you have to give up on when you become a parent.”

Eventually, enough of her embarrassment dissolved for her to turn the striated whites of her eyes over towards her sister.

“I’ll start thinking about what to do with my free time when Himawari starts school. Until then, you’ll have to settle for teasing me like this, okay?”

Dismantled by the same maturity that Hinata had championed since their youth, Hanabi exhaled her way into a pout. Winning verbal arguments with her older sister had only become harder as the two of them had aged. Often, it seemed as if she was more content losing than she was winning.

This, however, did not appear to be one of those times.

“Fine, fine. I’ll leave you alone.” sighed Hanabi. “I’m not taking back that ass comment, though. It was big a decade ago, but now it’s just stupid.”

At this, Hinata’s nature tempted her into turning her back to Hanabi and peering behind her to get a better look at her own rear. Pressing the fabric-engorging peach outwards with her hips, she sharpened her sight with an invocation of her byakugan in an effort to see what her sister was seeing.

What her eyes saw was an average-sized butt with an average amount of fat in it. Not unlike a handful of other women within her age group, Hinata’s familiarity with her body skewed her perception of it towards ‘the norm’—this in spite of the fact that it was every bit as massive as Hanabi had pointed out.

“No it’s not!” she retorted. “It looks the same as ever, see?”

Made to roll her eyes in annoyance, Hanabi turned her back to Hinata’s. Mimicking the same over-the-shoulder gaze that the older woman had produced, she pushed her own rear outwards until it arrived into contact with the oppressive bloat directed towards her.

“Do you even know what a normal ass looks like anymore?  _ Mine  _ is what an ass should look like—assuming you can even see it from over there.” she grumbled.

Incensed at Hanabi’s suggestion (and quite aware of the much smaller bubble affixed to her rear), Hinata pressed her rear out even further in response.

“Y-You’re just making fun of me! I-It’s not that bad…”

“Yes it is! Look, just feel the difference for a second.”

“Stop moving so much. You’re being mean, Hanabi!”

Rears squished up against one another, both sisters continued to argue their respective points as the descent of the elevator slowed to an inch-by-inch crawl. Neither one especially perturbed by its slowed movement, a pattern of sustained motion (or a lack thereof) soon emerged from their jostling.

Hinata and Hanabi not included, the sole observer of this sumptuous pattern was Enma. Exposed (and unwashed) erection sandwiched directly between the cocked-out asses of both women (this coming as a result of their initial grinding motions pulling the waistline of his slacks downward), observing the motions as the clothed flesh that they carried squished and rolled his cock into its current state was really the only thing that he could do.

To his left, Hinata stood relatively motionless. Dressed in her usual combination of white long sleeve and lavender hooded shawl, the top half of her frame projected a matronly simplicity that even the ballooning tear drops of breast flesh at her chest couldn’t disrupt. Her neck length black hair remained every bit as modest as her personality whereas the ghostly white of her eyes projected an inviting realization of the Hyuuga birthright. 

Below the slender beginnings of her waistline and the fertile flaring of her hips was where her appearance began to deviate. Somehow packaged into the beige shorts that she had come to favor in recent years was an ass utterly engorged with fat-padded flesh. Devoid of musculature in spite of its owning a wobbly, jelly-like consistency, both of the pale cheeks seemed from Enma’s perspective as a pair of bean bag chairs engorged with plush and scaled down to appear believably ridiculous as attached to Hinata’s rear.

Though sexual arousal had completely consumed his mind, Enma did not make these ascriptions lightly. Presently, the left side of his member and a growing percentage of the right were firmly smothered between the fabric-globed cheeks of Hinata’s ass. As such, though a thin barrier separated the vein-bloated mass of his erection from direct contact with the crease’s entirety, a detailed picture of its quality remained paintable within his mind. For as ‘excessive’ as the length, greasiness, and vascularity of his erection appeared, all of it was affectionately embraced into a puffy sleeve of assflesh far more excessive by comparison. In a manner of speaking, his endowment was a child swathed by the balmy, squishy warmth of a parent’s embrace.

As if contact with such planetary mounds of skimpily-gloved flesh was not torturous enough, Hanabi’s presence at his right accentuated and exacerbated all of the sensations squished around his shaft. Despite her being far more waifish relative to her sister, her frame lacked none of the traits that defined a pure-blooded Hyuuga. Pale skin enveloped in a kimono of mixed yellow and reds and back length hair projecting a single thin crescent across the front of her face, the fact that her eyes were open in presentation of her byakugan was not necessary to define her as a Hyuuga.

Like her sister, it was the lower half of her frame that deviated from these trends. Visible underneath the all-consuming fabric of her kimono was an ass far more pert (and far less massive) relative to Hinata’s. Owing to the physical activity that Hanabi involved herself in and the far less ‘hormone-riddled’ nature of her frame, her most prominent female asset was denied the sort of frame-consuming bloat that Hinata’s had acquired.

Her being the ‘aggressor’ in her argument with Hinata ensured that Enma felt this difference as well. Whereas Hinata was relatively motionless, Hanabi had taken to rolling her hips in wide circles against her older sister’s rear. In doing so, the dense musculature installed into the taut beach balls was repeatedly ground against the meat of his cock’s right side. Thus, whilst Hinata’s rear served as a boundless cushion for his drooling girth, Hanabi’s performed as an oppressive pestle made to swivel into a regular depression of his cock’s sweat-greased flesh.

So far as Enma was concerned, the roughness imposed by Hanabi’s rear was in no way lesser than the softness of her sister’s embrace. It was simply a different kind of ideal; without its tautness and Hanabi’s regular manipulations of its mass, it was unlikely that such a large percentage of his cock would have been pushed in between Hinata’s cheeks.

The combined quality of these sensations drew Enma into a daydream about the ‘big picture’ of his circumstance.

A pair of weeks had passed since he had blown several days’ worth of reeking cock juice onto Temari’s ass. In the days following the event, he had masturbated regularly in hopes of replicating the sensation to no avail. Eventually abandoning his efforts, he allowed several days to pass without doing much to empty his balls of the vile seed that they produced. Consequently, the coincidental compression of his bare erection between two warm masses of buttocks flesh could not have come at a better time. Had it not occurred here, his genjutsu was likely to have created an even more dangerous ‘outlet’ for him with or without his consent.

These things in mind, Enma again reached out to embrace the ‘silver-lining’ of his circumstance. Whilst fresh beads of sweat fattened at his forehead, he gingerly extended both of his hands out towards the masses of assflesh mashed up against his cock. Squishing a palm into the peak of Hinata’s left cheek and the outer fringe of Hanabi’s right, he subsequently invested himself into savouring their shared display as much as possible.

The moment that he chose to dedicate himself to this could not have been more perfect. In this instant, the pattern of motion established by Hanabi became considerably more aggressive.

Initially, the weighted circle-swivelling that she produced with her hips simulated the grinding of a pestle against the contents of its mortar. Firm in her intent to tease her sister for the size of her ass, Hanabi applied a fraction of her body weight alongside some of her quadriceps’ strength in the squishing of her cheeks against Hinata’s. Ignorant to the fact that a phallus leaking an endless fountain of milky white precum was set between them, the pressure that she produced further submerged Enma’s throbbing mast several inches deeper into Hinata’s butt-dough. However, as her (Hanabi’s) ass lacked the all-consuming mass of her sister’s, her efforts failed to completely slot his member between the fat of her (Hinata’s) cheeks. After a certain point, their bloat refused further compression by Hanabi’s and held firm. Thus was created the ‘mortar’ to Hanabi’s ‘pestle’. No matter how actively she rolled her hips to distribute the pressure she had created, the pillowy pushiness of Hinata’s ass refused to be depressed further inward.

For Enma, this impasse equated to the simulation of an increasingly lubrication-drenched milking of his cock inside a uniquely constructed masturbation toy. Whereas the entirety of his cock was consumed by some form of fabric-gloved assflesh, the sensations applied to its right and left sides could not have been more different. Whilst the left side of his mast was forcibly mushed into Hinata’s ass fat –a circumstance that kneaded his grease-lathered cock and the chubby blood vessels threaded through it against a substance designed to drain phalluses dry—what amount of its right side sat exposed were vigorously stroked from a point just above its root to a spot immediately beneath his glans. Grinding motions greased by globs of precum threaded through Enma’s urethra by the second, the punishing strokes curled a vein-flattening pressure up the length of his cock along a wide crescent. Comparable to the hands of a clock whilst ticking from 6pm (root position) to Midnight (cocktip), the completion of any one of these swirls was immediately followed by the production of another.

The heaven that Enma perceived as a result of this metronome was to Hanabi proof that her argument had been correct all along. No matter how she engaged herself, Hinata’s ass was both large enough and doughy enough to deny her further oppression. 

A minute or so into recognizing this fact, her frustration demanded that she begin her argument with Hinata anew.

“Come on, you have to feel it now, right?” she asked, skull tipping upwards to finally re-establish eye contact with her older sister. “It’s more than twice the size of mine; I can’t push you any further than this and you’re not even trying to stop me.”

“Just admit that it's a giant peach that’s trying to eat your shorts and I’ll stop teasing you. It’s not like it really matters—like you said, Naruto looooooves it, doesn’t he?” she teased.

While far from content with her sister’s oppressive hip gyrations, Hinata did not jump at her first opportunity to free herself from them. Well past the self-esteem issues that had plagued her youth, being teased by Hanabi instead inspired her to fight back and prove to her younger sister that her body was normal.  _ Perhaps  _ her rear was a bit larger than the average woman’s—this much she was willing to accept. The idea that it was the blemish-less dumpster of useless fat that Hanabi believed it was one, however, was not.

Thus, she resisted. Sidestepping Hanabi’s attempt at drawing her into a direct confrontation, she made herself as still as a stalwart and pouted back towards her sister as she worked. Still very much averse to fights of all sorts—even more so where her baby sister was concerned—she used the difference between them to her advantage. No matter the pumping, swirling, or…throbbing? projected against her rear, she refused to move an inch—even as the fabric of her shorts were bunched up into the appearance of a beige thong by her motions.

When addressed by Hanabi, a fraction of the quiet stubbornness she had adopted bled from her lips in the form of a response.

“I don’t have to admit to something that isn’t true, Hanabi. Maybe  _ you _ should admit that you’re just jealous of mine because it looks nice without my having to do much with it.” Hinata retorted, wispy voice inflected very matter-of-factly. “M-Maybe it is a little bigger than average, but everyone is different. I don’t think any part of me deserves to be called a g-giant peach…”

Challenged, Hanabi could only redouble her efforts. By this point, changing Hinata’s perspective was no longer of importance. After hearing her poke at the mild jealousy that she (Hanabi) harbored towards her, the exacerbation of Hinata’s embarrassment became her sole priority.

Ever the younger sister, the grin that she projected quickly became a mischievous smirk.

“Oh yeah?” she spat, coyly. “Well, how about  **now** ?”

Abruptly, the swirling of Hanabi’s rear was replaced by an abrasive, up-and-down shaking of its flesh against Hinata’s. From a position partway through one of her swivels, she stamped her butt as deeply into Hinata’s rear as her hips could manage and began flicking her hips up and down. Carrying the flesh of her ass through a simple loop of ascent and descent across the ‘impact point’ she had made (the initial squishing of her ass against Hinata’s), the successes of her initial strokes saw Hanabi accelerate the pace of their production after only a half dozen repetitions.

A certain amount of urgency was necessary to achieve the end she sought. As Hyuuga Hinata was not an opponent that could be bested with one of speed or aggression, combining the two in a single, suitably flesh-aggravating motion was the only path still available to her.

In the moment, a fit of twerking was the best idea that she could come up with. Though bouncing her ass in this way was not a talent she was proud to have, Hanabi reasoned that doing so would result in her much tighter rear drawing the ample fat of Hinata’s ass into a similar set of motions — thus proving her point.

And she was right. The moment the bouncing her asscheeks began to accelerate, a fraction of the overwhelming mass of Hinata’s was forced to begin bouncing as well.

Hers, however, created noise.

***CLOPP-PLATT-CLOPP-PLATT***

Made more and more audible for every second that Hanabi committed to the motion, a sodden clopping of Hinata’s ass cheeks against themselves (and to a lesser extent the flesh of her thighs) soon consumed the elevator’s airspace. Evidently (if the gooiness installed the sounds were any indication) drenched with a mixture of sweat and perhaps something thicker and muddier, the chained noises carried with them everything emblematic of the impact of wet flesh against wet flesh.

Having acquired precisely what she needed, Hanabi commented on the noises just as soon as they attained a volume that Hinata would not be able to ignore.

“Hmmm, I wonder whose ass is making all that noise?” Hanabi mused allowed, condescension seasoning her tone. “It couldn’t be me— _ my _ ass is just a cute little bubble with more muscle than fat in it. But then, that’d only leave  **yours,** wouldn’t it, nee-san?”

*CLOPP-PLATT-SPLORTCH-CLOPP*

“Oh, but in that case…” well aware of what she was doing, Hanabi intentionally drew out her speech to force her sister to train her ears on the noises her ass was making. “Noises that  **loud** and  **sloppy** could only be made by an ass way fatter than anything a normal woman could hope to have, right? Like it or not, I guess that’s what you must have too.”

These words tied Hinata’s hands with a knot that resistance could not hope to loosen. Subjected to more of her reality with each passing second, her fragile pride as a woman only lasted an additional handful of seconds before rupturing.

As soon as it did, the seal that she had placed on her lips vanished alongside the facial striations that accompanied the activation of her byakugan.

“Moouuuuu! I-I not faaaaaaaaaat!”

Hanabi did respond to the sound of her sister’s near-defeat. Hinata reciprocated in turn, thus initiating another leg in their endless chain of sibling banter.

Whereas this back and forth was extremely important to them, the man responsible for it was utterly deaf to it. Right from the beginning of Hanabi’s twerking, the claustrophobic cock-milking that Enma enjoyed and the precum-mired *CLOPP!*ing that filled his ears were the only things that his mind could process.

All at once, the smothering grind of Hanabi’s ass against his member had become an all-out stroking of his cock between two precum-drenched creases of buttocks-flesh. No intermediate step bridged the two forms of masturbation from each other, nor was the exacerbation of this stroking paced to allow him to manage it. As quickly and aggressively as Hanabi could manage, the motion of her hips drew the yet-maximized bloat of Hinata’s ass into a timed stroking of the left side of his member.

As indicated by Hanabi herself, it was the bouncing of her sister’s ass that was the most effective between the two. Thus far made a stagnant pillow into which Enma’s member could be smothered, the motion imposed on her cheeks saw the excess of precum blurted between them lathered from the midsection of his glans down near its root. Dislodged from its gunking of the crease (or rather, the fractions of it that grasped Enma’s member, the rhythmic bouncing of both cheeks handled this without any exertion on Hinata’s part. So long as Hanabi continued to twerk, the makeshift onahole; the veritable  _ cunt _ of pocketed assflesh would continue stroking the entirety of his member no matter how it’s flesh pleaded for respite.

Hanabi would never know it, but the brutal automaticity of Hinata’s assjob smoothly drew their arguments third party to her side. Before the bouncing of her elder sister’s rear began in earnest, Enma believed he could have ‘suffered’ the brunt of their shared assjob in relative comfort.

Presently, his outlook was far less optimistic.

“F-Fuaaaackk….” Enma groaned internally, voice gutted by distress. “H-How is this still going on? Shouldn’t we have reached the ground f-floor already? I-I’m not complaining, b-but if things keep up like this…”

Enma was not afraid of blowing a grimy load of cockjuice between the asses squeezed up against his member. So long as his genjutsu continued to function—which appeared likely given the course of events thus far—his drenching the wife and cousin of the current Hokage with his seed was unlikely to have any kind of real consequence.

What he feared was being denied the opportunity to do so. Many a time had the whimsical nature of his genjutsu denied him that which he desired moments before it could come about. How and why it chose to do this was never clear to him; his being the cause of these near misses—subconsciously or otherwise—seemed just as likely an explanation as anything else. Regardless of the reason for their occurrence, enduring them had made him especially wary of circumstances that seemed too good to be true.

The initiation of Hanabi’s twerking had convinced Enma that his current plight was one such ideal event. At a pace comparable to an expertly executed handjob, an orifice comprised between two sets of buttocks drenched in precum kneaded the meat of his member from root to tip. Whilst Hanabi’s applied a stringent, far rougher ‘handjob’ against the right fringes of his erection’s girth—an act that saw the reddened bloat of the organ progressively stimulated to a new peak in puffy fatness—Hinata’s affectionately pumped at the majority of his cock with a comparable consistency. When combined, Enma could no longer even feel the soaked fabric (more so in Hanabi’s case than Hinata’s) that shielded his cock from contact with their flesh. The only thing he could feel was a voracious, glue-stuffed monstrosity milking his meat towards completion.

Ultimately, the fear that he harbored turned out to be far more reasonable than even he could have imagined. Just when Enma began to believe that the stirring of assflesh against his member was destined to attain a brand new level of obscenity, all of the gains made in the double-sided pattern were washed away in one fell swoop.

Not by the failure of his genjutsu, nor by the whims of Hinata or Hanabi.

All that it took to initiate this transition was the chime of a bell.

*PING*

_ “GROUND FLOOR. THANK YOU FOR VISITING THE EMPLOYMENT OFFICES OF KONOHAGAKURE.” _

__

Behind this chime and the electronic voice that followed it, the elevator doors ahead of Hinata and Hanabi began to slide apart. As women of repute, the steady unveiling of the outside world saw both of them snap back into the projection of their usual behaviors. Hanabi engaged and serious and Hinata welcoming and calm, the fiery juvenile spat that had raged between them went utterly forgotten.

Then, they began to walk forward. Keeping pace with one another, they proceeded out from the elevator into the confines of the lobby as the Hyuuga siblings that most everyone in the village were familiar with.

Unbeknownst to these onlookers (but not to Enma), a final pair of utterances slipped from their lips just as they presented themselves outside the elevator.

_ “I won, nee-san.” _

_ “Y-You did not. This discussion is over!” _

Having been left on the verge of an orgasm in the back of an elevator seconds away from being called back to the upper floors of the building, Enma found himself in a familiar and all-too-punished position. Then and there, his being spared the consequences of indecent exposure in front of the Hokage’s family members did little to soften the sting that came with it.

His only respite from this pain was the sight of Hinata’s ass as she strolled through the lobby. Though her shorts were impressed between her asscheeks as a form of thong, the perky, bean bag chair-sized globes appeared no worse for having entertained his cock between them. Amidst their constant jiggling and wobbling, not even a drop of the precum he had felt caked between them oozed through them towards the ground. As far as he could tell, there was simply too much flesh surrounding these wads for any of them to escape.

Perhaps the only man to lay eyes on such a sight, Enma committed every step that Hinata took to memory.

If nothing else, he’d always have his memories…

Of it, and of what could have been.

-

**AUGUST 1ST** **—** **AFTERNOON**

During the urbanization of Konohagakure, many new and pre-existing businesses established within the village were forced to modify their practices to keep up with the tumultuous times thrust upon them. As the organization of the village and the expectations of its residents had changed, so too did the manner in which they managed their clientele require adjustment.

Sometimes, these changes were insignificant. For example, restaurants specializing in in-house service uniformly adopted some form of delivery practice to service more customers and pad their incomes. Additionally, specialized textile and clothing stores—once reserved for shinobi with considerable financial backgrounds—began designing higher quality products that even the most destitute of the village’s residents would be able to afford.

Other times, these changes were far more significant. On occasion, stores surrounding major recreation centres built throughout the city (some larger than others) were forced to adapt to large scale events put on within the city lest they lose out on a day’s earnings.

The ‘live music events’ popularized throughout the world are examples of such events. For hours on end, fractions of the village typically reserved for families and individuals to shop or stroll are converted into standing and seating space for music fans of all sorts. To capitalize on the area’s changed foot traffic, the businesses surrounding these open spaces support these events in ways that only they can (i.e cafés providing outdoor seating, corner shops offering band memorabilia, etc). If only for a few hours, the degree of cohesion displayed by these businesses typically results in considerable profit for each one individually, and memorable experiences for the customers that they serve.

As a result of the adaptation of these businesses, the concerts welcomed into Konohagakure enjoyed progressive growth in both scale and attendance. Depending on the concert’s location and the band in question, it is not uncommon for entire streets of Konohagakure to become inundated with fans and vendors of all ages for hours at a time.

Never one to leave his apartment without a good reason, Saburo Enma was a man largely ignorant to the existence of such events and the choke points that they created throughout the city. The extent of his knowledge was that concerts occurred in Konoha as they did in other villages; where and when were completely irrelevant to him…

Or rather, they had been.

Too stupefied by his hour long elevator ride with Hanabi and Hinata to plan an informed route from Shikamaru’s office building back to his home, sheer coincidence had resulted in his path being blocked by a mob of bouncing and cheering fans packed onto one of the main streets that leading back to the residential districts.

Had he bothered to use his ears, he may very well have been able to avoid them. Between the amplified sound of music that boomed from over a kilometer away and the cheering that accompanied it, any individual attempting to sidestep the event needed only to allow their ears to carry them where it was quietest.

Having failed to make use of any of his senses whilst managing the throbs and quivers that ran through his member, Enma had instead ended up embedded within the boundless crowd’s core. Being obese, this meant that the meat of his frame was near constantly shoved or jostled by those around him. This in turn dragged the pace of his progression down to a snail’s pace whilst regularly pushing him off of what he believed to be an escape route from the mob’s confines.

Tragically, he had only himself to blame for his plight. Being able to accept this fact did little to soothe the frustration that he felt whilst moving through the sweltering mob. No amount of understanding could stop the sun from beating down from him or move the individuals crowded ahead of him out of his way.

These things aside, it did manage to provide him with a goal: correcting his mistake as quickly as possible

“How long is this street again?” he thought to himself, eyes attempting to look around the bodies ahead of him in search of an answer. “I’ve barely moved over the past few—ow, fuck—minutes, but I should still be able to see the other side, right?”

Despite uttering this to himself, Enma could not see this ‘other side’. The only thing that he could see ahead of him was an endless sea of bodies set underneath a clear blue horizon.

This did not bode well for his immediate future.

“Okay, fuck this. I don’t want to stop, but I’m not going to get anywhere if I can’t see where I’m going.” he thought to himself. “I’ll just stop for a second and get up on my tiptoes. Once I can see the end of the street, I’ll keep heading in that direction.”

Suddenly a man of action, Enma halted his haggard wading and enacted his plan as constructed. Ignoring the bodies that continued to bump into his own, he traded his forward motion for a momentary (and pitiful) ascent of his frame on the tips of his toes…

For all of 3 seconds.

Before he could elevate himself high enough to determine where he was going, the sensation of a body crashing into his front alongside the spillage of a thick, lukewarm fluid atop his crotch wrenched his attention back onto the concert-goers surrounding him.

Turning his line of sight back downward, Enma found a smarting Tenten only inches ahead of the swell of his gut. Chestnut brown hair drawn into the eastern-style buns that she had maintained since her youth and frame dressed in an undrawn, sleeveless white-pink qipao dress, one could infer that her presence amongst the crowd carried no special purpose alongside it. 

Presently, she was a fan dressed for the weather and equipped to enjoy herself.

Recognizing this, an apology began tumbling out of Enma’s mouth faster than he could think to stifle it.

“O-Oh! Sorry! I didn’t see—“

“Tch, aw man, I almost spilled my milked tea!” somehow deaf to the beginnings of Enma’s apology despite it being yelled directly at her, Tenten’s recovery from her impact against Enma saw her attention shift onto his crotch. Suddenly indifferent to all those around her, she inched in towards it before dropping down to her knees to level her face with the fattened knob of semen-scented cockflesh at his shaft’s tip.

“It’s a good thing they make drink cups so sturdy these days! I better finish drinking this before I end up actually dropping it or something!” she yelled. “The intermission is only half over; I should have plenty of time!”

For a split second, these actions left Enma utterly dumbfounded. Tenten  _ had _ spilled her drink—its cup was on the ground near her feet and its contents were all over his cock. Despite this, she seemed convinced that it had merely moved to where his crotch was.

When she parted her lips and happily surged inwards to pop the cream-coated nose of his member into the warmth of her mouth, everything that had confused Enma began to make sense.

Tenten did not think his crotch contained her drink.

His crotch  **was** her drink.

“So this is how you’re going to play it, huh?” Enma thought to himself, eyes glued to the lips spread out across his glans. “I just had to get trapped in this fucking crowd, didn’t I…”

All too aware of the hell that awaited him, Enma did not allow his lamentations to prevent him from preparing himself. Reaching forward with his left hand, he threaded several bloated fingers through the smooth strands that adorned Tenten’s head. Curling each one into the shape of a hook, he gently dragged her skull further inward, and by proxy, her mouth further downward across the sore length of his cock.

From this point onward, he allowed his genjutsu’s latest contrivance to play out as its preset course dictated.

Without so much as a nudge of encouragement, Tenten quickly became enamoured with the entirety of his stinking erection. Convinced by the cocksweat-tinged cream and sugar atop her tongue that the trunk of his shaft was the straw of her beverage, she aggressively engulfed inch after inch of Enma’s shaft between her lips until the pulsing organ was depressed through her throat and into her esophagus. Whilst sliding herself downwards, she reached up with her right hand to affectionately ‘cup’ as much of his erection’s root as she could. Similarly convinced that these inches constituted the container for her beverage, she applied a firm-yet-stagnant grasp around the majority of its girth (i.e fingertips fractions of an inch short of contact with her thumb) so as to hold it in place.

Upon depressing herself nearly halfway down the full length of Enma’s cock—a depth that just so happened to coincide with the extent of her tea’s spillage against his cock—her treatment of the reddened organ ceased to resemble drinking.

If anything, it was closer to eating. Straight behind the depression of her skull, Tenten dragged her lips all the way back up to the tip of Enma’s cock. Easing up on the cock-flattening pressure that she applied with them throughout her ascent, its end resulted in a murky mixture of cream and saliva drooling out of the confines of her mouth. Released without Tenten dragging her lips completely out of contact with Enma’s cock, the mixed fluid’s descent almost made it appear as though her throat was producing its own sexual lubricant.

Before the gooey substance could descend all the way to Enma’s cockroot, Tenten skewered her lips straight back down to her original stopping point. Fattening the beginnings of her esophagus to the tune of a greasy *GLRK!*, her return to this depth served as the initial ‘link’ in a chain of ravenous ascents and descents for her lips.

The initiation of this chain aside, her enveloping his mast with the meat of her throat maintained its own punishing qualities. As a part of Tenten still believed that she was drinking from a straw, the slovenly outflows of mess allowed to drain from between her lips following her ascent were counterbalanced by a suction-backed depression of her lips. Squeezing the roof of her mouth down flat against the top half of Enma’s shaft whilst raising her tongue up to writhe against its underside, her inches-long descent was punctuated by a sensation of ‘pulling’ unlike anything her suitor had endured prior. Whilst the mucus-glazed interior of her esophagus worked to constrict the worn flesh of his erection, the confines of her mouth hunkered down on each inch that passed through it in hopes of sucking the seed his balls contained straight through his length.

Second by second, Enma was subjected to these sensations as a child strapped into a teeter totter. At one moment, his eyes observed mountainous globs of throatslop spilling out across the meat of his cock in the form of a segmented sheet. At another, this same sheet was messily engulfed by the descent of Tenten’s lips and forcibly spread across his cockface as an overbearing lubricant. Whereas the former event was accompanied by feelings of masculine bliss and sexual arousal (these owed to the mess of spittle and cream caked to Tenten’s lips and the appearance of her mouth), the latter intensified his shaft’s desire to erupt with blatant reminders as to how much cum had been stockpiled within his balls by Hinata and Hanabi. Such was the brutality of her suction that he could almost feel the confines of her mouth inside the root of his cock. Of course, this was not actually the case…

But it may as well have been.

“H-Holy fuck. H-How much more of this do I have to stand?” understandably stressed, this thought crossed his mind nearly a minute into Tenten’s slovenly ‘consumption’ of her ‘beverage’. “I-If it’s just going to end up the same way, w-why do I have to stand here like this? Do I really have no other choice but to?”

Enma knew the answers to these questions; asking them anyway was simply how he coped with their contents. Even if he were to begin fucking Tenten’s face as he wished, whether or not he’d be allowed to baste her esophagus with his nut was not up to him. It was  _ possible _ , but a guarantee for it didn’t exist. Thus, regardless of the amount of additional pleasure he might accrue for himself by acting, watching and waiting to see how reality was manipulated around him remained a far more optimal choice.

All the same, the pressure mounting within his crotch made thoughts of somehow breaking from this pattern much more appealing. Even if it ended with his being punished for some form of sexual crime, blowing everything he had stockpiled into Tenten’s stomach, or perhaps forcing her to chew and swallow a fraction of it whilst plastering the rest against her face remained extremely appealing concepts for him.

Really, it was a simple choice: his reality, or the one selected for him by his latent talent.

He needed only decide which one he wanted more.

***GLRK-GLRUP-SCHLUP-SQULECH** **♥** *****

For every second that passed, the sound of Tenten’s throating grew more grotesque and intense. Her skull seemed to be bobbing up and down the length of his cock faster as well—this in spite of the punishing conditions within her throat being maintained all the while.

If subjected to these things in tandem for much longer, Enma believed that the choice he was avoiding would soon be made on his behalf. Face drenched in a fresh coat of sweat, the worsening of his straits pushed him to begin looking for something with which to distract himself from this reality. Grunting and panting throughout, the haphazard effort eventually served up something that he had indulged himself in minutes prior:

Tenten’s face.

Seeing her cock spread lips and the throatslop trickling down from her right nostil, a question bloomed within his mind.

“W-What could she be thinking right now? She has no idea what’s happening, s-so why is she working so hard? Why is she so happy to be throating my cock like this?”

Prompted, Enma forced himself to begin generating potential answers to this question. Comically, were his sex-taxed mind to be presented with its actual answer, it was liable to have collapsed immediately.

“Boy, this milk tea sure is yummy!” Tenten chirped internally. “It’s so much  **thicker** and  **goopier** than the ones I usually get, though. Maybe the guys at the stall were too busy to blend everything properly?”

“Well, whatever happened, I’m really going to have to  **suck** to get these last bits up through the straw. Oh! Maybe I can squeeze the base of the cup a bit, too!”

Neither whorish need nor a desire to torture a man comprised the ‘root’ of Tenten’s action. She simply wished to finish her drink before it became stale—the perfection of Enma’s genjutsu allowed her no more than this.

Seeing a finish line mere seconds away, she began to sprint towards it. Abruptly, her thus far underused right hand went from cradling the root of Enma’s shaft to stroking it. First grinding an impressive pressure up from its initial position up into the brunt of the messes made at the midsection of his length, she subsequently concentrated short, cream-caked flicks of her wrist directly at this region. Like this, she hastily collected a wealth of the cream-dense sludge lathered to the region into her palm, and at the same time aggressively applied it against the middle of Enma’s shaft.

Whilst stroking, her throating effort became even more feverish. After a stroke that nearly plunged her lips down into contact with the fingers of her right hand, she refused to draw herself back up to the tip of Enma’s cock. Instead, she shortened the length of her pumping to a punishing trio of inches. Intentionally limiting the amount of cockmeat she allowed to leave her throat per bob, the pace at which she bounced from a full hilt of the pulsing mast to a minor rebounding from off of it skyrocketed.

From this effort was born a pleasure far more concentrated (and just as slovenly) as what she had committed herself to moments prior. As a fleshy, slime-riddled *GLRPGRLPGRLPGRLP* was flushed out into the open air, the flesh of Enma’s cock was perpetually scrubbed between two ends of the same, gullet-heated onahole. All the while, the stroking of her right hand denied the lower reaches of his cock respite from her efforts. Whilst her esophagus pressed down on the inches above her palm, her palm made use of all of the slop yoked from her gullet to ensure that a pale simulation of her mouth’s constrictive stimulation was pumped from this point down to the increasingly grime-caked root of Enma’s shaft.

It was perfect; a double-ended metronome rooted equally in severity and consistency. Wrenched from his pointless daydreaming and back into reality, Enma recognized this fact seconds into his pointless stare at Tenten’s face.

Seconds more of it was all he needed. His frame couldn’t withstand another minute of effort from Tenten—of this much he was certain. Just a few more and he’d have the release that he sought: relief from the semen swelling his balls.

He’d have everything he wanted…

If only reality deigned to give it to him.

***SCLLLLLUUUUPP—PAH!***

Heartless and mechanical, Tenten released the root of Enma’s cock on a whim, and nastily peeled her lips up along his cock until they exploded from off of its tip.

Indifferent to the messes of pubic hair and cream-infused saliva caked to her face, she raised her stroking hand up to her mouth and kissed at it. Subsequently, a second slurping noise just as loud as the first sounded out from her lips. This time, however, something was being dragged into them as opposed to out from them.

***PHLRRRRRP** ♥ **!***

Over the course of 6 painstaking seconds, Tenten absentmindedly slurped the mixed sludge caked to her palm off of its surface and into her mouth. Ridding the limb of the majority of the muck caked to it within a single breath, she waited until her task was complete to swallow the mire collected atop her tongue behind an equally sodden *GLRP!*.

Having finally finished with her drink, her attentions quickly shifted back to her reality.

“Ahhh~ how refreshing! I’m definitely gonna get another one of these next time I see a show!” she exhaled happily. “Right on time, too—I think they’re about to start up again!”

“Alright, let’s see if I can’t find a better place to stand!”

Just like that, she was off. Already working her way through the thinned sea of individuals to Enma’s left, reaching out to try to stop her was pointless.

It always had been.

-

**AUGUST 1ST** **—** **EVENING**

Each day that Enma departed from his home and returned to it safe and sound was a gift. A ruthless, bittersweet gift laden with misfortune and longing, but a gift all the same.

Viewing his arrivals at the mouth to his musty apartment any other way was impossible. Most days, he endured at least two 'flaring' of his genjutsu that landed him in a situation that many would define as life-threatening. Yet, no matter how many times he was subjected to them, a path was always paved for him to avoid criminal prosecution and return to the dingy environs that he loved best.

If this was not a gift, nothing in his life could be considered as such.

While uniform in value, some of these returns were considerably more ‘bitter’ than others. On occasion, the machinations of the genjutsu that dominated his life granted him a release before the end of a given outing. Through them, the stresses and pressures built up within his body were expended in full, thus ‘refreshing’ him in preparation for another few days of self-imposed incarceration within his apartment.

On other days—namely his latest—Enma was made to return to the confines of his apartment with a body cavity congested with semen, and a cock teased into a state of perpetual and grotesque erection. Denied even the slightest relief by his ninja art, continuing on with his day ‘as intended’ and moving on to the next became his foremost priority. By training all of his attentions on this goal, the discomfort dogging his frame could be forgotten, and the monotony of his actual existence could again be accepted as the ‘norm’ by his consciousness.

Enma’s lifetime of practice dealing with days like this made the latest much less gut-wrenching than it would have been otherwise. Though dogged by the mental image he had saved of Hinata’s ass wobbling and bouncing, his return to his apartment saw him progress through the ‘motions’ of his daily life without issue. After a quick stop at his computer intended to ‘update’ him on the online content he had missed over throughout the day, he shuffled into his kitchen (i.e, a cramped box of faded paint with a stove, microwave, and refrigerator) and set about preparing dinner for himself. Water was boiled for his favorite flavor of ramen, and a convenience store steak stored within his fridge a day prior was reheated in his microwave for quick and painless consumption.

Whilst committed to these tasks, the throbbing of his cock was not so painful. His longing for the orgasm he had nearly blasted down Tenten’s throat was no less sore, but over time, the smell of his meals stoked his hunger to match it.

On completion, Enma retreated to his living room. Meals in hand, he seated himself atop the sole couch elongated across its meagre width and began to eat in complete silence.

With the dance of familiar flavors across his tongue came yet more relief, and yet another change in perspective for his addled mind.

“Could have been worse, I guess.” he thought aloud. “At least now I can post some stuff online about Hinata and Tenten, too. The guys definitely aren’t going to believe either story, but it’ll be a good time at least.”

“I should try to take it easy for the rest of the week, though. I gotta start that job on Monday, so the less work I have to do between then and now, the better.”

Amidst his rambling, the chopsticks shoveling ramen into his mouth progressively disposed the container of its contents. Once empty, his hands reflexively cupped both sides of the bowl and tipped its rim in towards his lips. Within a handful of hearty gulps, the instant meal’s soup base was drained between his lips, and a satisfied ‘Ahhh!’ burst from his mouth in time with the completion of this thought.

“Alright! Time to do absolutely noth—”

Before he could complete his triumphant utterance, the sound of a fist rattling against his door deflated Enma’s mood and pushed him back to his feet.

“Something, apparently.” he muttered.

Incensed, he afterwards set off on an inexplicably wide waddle from his living room over to his front door. Arriving at the right side of the apartment within seconds, he did not think to ask who it was had come to see him or the purpose for their presence. Coaxed by his frustrations to presume that a delivery had arrived for him, he unlocked the stained door and wrenched it inward past him without a second thought.

Like this, the ‘day’ he had presumed to be over began anew.

“Christ.”

“…I knew what I was getting into, but this is somehow a lot worse than I imagined.” hissed Tsunade, head shaking from left to right in derision.

Pausing, Tsunade offered Enma a chance to speak for himself—a chance that he ultimately squandered stammering.

Tsunade was standing in front of him; the words simply wouldn’t come.

“Well, whatever. I’m already making a house call—it’s not like I can go any lower.” she lamented. “Let’s just get this over with. I’ve got other things to do tonight and I’m sure you do, too.”

As abrasive as ever, Tsunade reached out with her right hand to take up Enma’s left. Afterwards plunging herself into the confines of his apartment, she strode through its length without a hint of disgust or annoyance at its condition or…contents.

At first sight of the couch within his living room, her path of progression bent their ingress towards it. Dragging a stumbling Enma along behind her, she did not think to look back at the greasy male until they arrived directly ahead of the worn piece of furniture.

Here, she released his hand, and turned around to face him from the front.

“What? Are you just going to keep standing there, or are you going to sit down?” she asked, voice equal parts expectant and annoyed. “Get with the program—I can’t treat you on your feet, and even if I could, I wouldn’t. Shikamaru asked me to help do something about the muscle tone in your legs, not babysit you.”

Cut into by Tsunade’s glare as combined with her tone of voice, Enma dropped himself back first against his couch without another word. Maintaining eye-contact with her all the while, this shift in position drove home the situation that he had ended up in.

Fiddling with the dark blue sash to her obi ahead of him was Tsunade: an outwardly ageless kunoichi instrumental in the formation of the current Konohagakure. Blonde hair devoid of the greys that ought to have consumed it and creamy facial features spared a single wrinkle, the transformation art apart of her legend appeared no less potent for all of the years she had maintained it. As she was now, Enma was unsure who between the two of them appeared younger—though the answer to this question was obvious.

Evidently, the passage of time had seen further improvements applied to her frame. Engorging the white kimono blouse loosely draped across her shoulders were breasts rounder and fatter than those he had idolized in his youth. Both exceeding the size of his head by several times, the only parallel that he could imagine for them were a pair of oblong, bloat-engorged sandbags of flesh. Rather than sagging or drooping as could be expected of larger breasts subjected to the passage of time, both sloped outwards and upwards as a pair of perky monstrosities that demanded to be seen. Likely J-Cup in scale—if the sense of scale gifted to him by the pornography he had consumed was to be trusted—both mounds did precisely this. From any given angle, the width of Tsunade’s kimono exposed a wealth of puffy cleavage at her chest whilst covering a very minimal amount of their mass. By simply looking at the older woman as she was, Enma attained masturbatory fuel on par with the various ‘sights’ he had been treated to throughout the day.

And it was only getting better. For every second that he stared, more and more of Tsunade’s breast flesh was exposed to his line of sight. Initially happy to simply observe their jiggling exposure, the presentation of her inverted nipples and the wide areola that surrounded them was ultimately required to clue him in as to why this had occurred. 

The seconds that he had spent staring were seconds that Tsunade spent working. After undressing the top half of her frame, she immediately dropped down to a squat ahead of Enma’s seated position at the lip of his couch.

Here, she took the time to look up at Enma.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she asked, smirking. “Now, just spread your legs a bit and I’ll get started. By the looks of it, this really shouldn’t take very long.”

Far past the point of asking questions, Enma embraced Tsunade’s request the moment he felt the warmth of her bare breasts against his thighs. Paying no mind to the fact that his slacks had fallen to his ankles at some point throughout the preceding few minutes (thus exposing the vibrant monstrosity of erect cockmeat that had sat bundled beneath it) he instead did as instructed and further parted his thighs to expose its greasy flesh to Tsunade’s chest.

In response, Tsunade did not turn up her nose, or even scowl at the foul, vein-riddled pipe of flesh pressed up against the face of her cleavage. Instead grinning as if presented with an enjoyable challenge, she met the availing of Enma’s cock with an ingress. First raising both of her hands up into contact with the outer sides of her breasts, she subsequently pressed herself forward to squeeze the flesh of his cock straight between them. Owning just enough buoyant flesh to just barely consume the reeking pipe’s length, its disappearance prompted her to compress her palms down against her mounds to properly trap its meat within her embrace.

Both her ingress and the chakra-backed squishing of her titflesh against Enma’s cock were acts that Tsunade believed to be palliative. From her perspective, she had not swallowed a sweat-greased baseball bat of sex-fattened cockmeat between her breasts. She was not smelling the semen clogging its testicles with every breath she took, and she certainly wasn’t feeling its moist heat emanate out against the inner sides of her cleavage. All that she had accomplished was a masterful compression of her fingers into the taut, underused thigh musculature of a man in dire need of her help.

No greater satisfaction existed for a medical-nin than soothing the pain of another. Convinced by the expression made by her portly patient that she had accomplished precisely this, Tsunade continued with her planned ministrations with a smile on her face.

In reality, the sinew massage that she saw herself performing was not so much a massage as it was an affectionate grind of her body-warmed breast meat up and down along the length of Enma’s cock. Rather than simply heaving her breasts up and down along the spire, Tsunade involved equal amounts of ‘wrist’ and ‘palm’ into her metronome. Beginning from a position that consumed the entirety of his phallus’ trunk, she began elevating the flesh of her breasts to see its exposed tip brought into the embrace of her mounds. Throughout this ascension, she curled both of her wrists along short and sharp crescents to knead the breast flesh most immediate to her palms downward against his cock. Like this, every inch of his shaft from its root to her stopping point at the peak of his glans was treated to a weight-backed steamrolling underneath hot, increasingly sweat-glazed breast flesh.

At the peak of her ascent, she plunged her mounds downwards. Denying the throbbing organ a repeat of the dedicated grinding she had established thus far, all of her wrist motion ceased the moment her depression began. In its place came a balling of her fingers into loose fists, and a grinding of her knuckles in against the puffy titflesh underneath her palms. Believing herself to be producing a form of deep tissue massage, she carried both fists down across the outer sides of her breasts along paths shaped as “)(“, and in doing so applied a very different sort of compression to Enma’s shaft. Whereas the rolling of her wrists had incrementally ground her patient’s trapped cockmeat underneath her breasts’ weight, the sloping of her fists away from one another juiced its flesh with a uniform blanket of stinging pleasure.

Just one of these depressions was stimulating enough to squeeze several swampy wads of precum out from his urethra into a tenable crowning of his glans’ clay-toned complexion. Though unnoticed by Tsunade, the sight of them and the electric sensation that accompanied them reminded Enma of precisely how little ‘work’ his cock would be able to withstand until it burst.

Presently, though, this realization filled him with excitement as opposed to dread. For what reason he perceived it to be different and to what extent he felt this excitement were not clear to him, but neither of these things mattered.

Something was different, and this was enough for him.

“How does that feel?” some minutes into watching his cock plunged and peeled from between her mounds, the sound of Tsunade’s voice was added to the growing list of sensations availed to him. “Much better, right? With all the contractions running through you, I bet it must feel like you’re getting a new leg altogether, huh?”

For her inquiry, Tsunade received a series of ghoulish groans and orgasmic writhing from Enma. Both told her that her assumption was correct, but only the latter was a significant enough response to whet her appetite for adulation.

“That’s one way to answer a question, I guess.” she chuckled, dryly. “It’s fine, though—you can enjoy yourself however you want for now. I’m almost done, so I expect to hear a full review when this is all over, got it?”

Nearly as hungry for this ‘end’ as her patient, Tsunade was quick to inject further effort into her massage. Deaf to the repeated *PLAP-PLOPP-PLAPP* that sounded out from Enma’s lap each time she squished her tits down to its root, she willfully sharpened the pace at which she elevated and depressed her breasts in hopes of completing her task in record time. A simple flooding of additional chakra through her muscles and joints saw her expert metronome accelerated into a cock-milking befitting a former Hokage. Content to work amidst a sloppy cacophony of clops and squelches born of her breasts’ progressive caking with precum, she focused herself solely on mashing the substance out of the organ as often as she could

  
  


When the initial seconds of her exacerbation failed to bring about what she desired, ‘additions’ were made to her ministrations without her recognizing their application. Following one of the innumerable plaps produced as the sweaty underside of her cleavage collided with Enma’s crotch, Tsunade did not knead her mounds back up along his cock. The moment his glans were freed from the greasy prison she had created, she snapped her skull in towards it from the right until her left cheek collided with its exterior. As soon as balmy, sex-greased cockflesh met the faultless exterior of her face, she began nuzzling the flesh of her cheek against his glans with far more affection than it deserved.

Convinced all the while that she hadn’t moved an inch from her original position, she spoke out after the fact to remind Enma of his position.

“I doubt any of this’ll teach you to stop treating your body so badly, but try not to waste all of my hard work too quickly, alright?” speaking slyly, the movements of her face left the quality of her voice completely untouched. “You won’t be able to call in favors like this in the future, and for that matter—”

Jolted by a coalescence of instinct and stimuli, Tsunade paused for a split second to brace herself.

“You’re not going to find treatment like this anywhere else in the village  ♥ .”

The moment she finished playfully inflecting the end of this utterance, the violent writhing and pulsing produced by Enma’s cock amounted to something. Timed down to the second that her instincts had warned her about, a single fissure of urethra-fattening bloat surged from the smothered root of his member straight up to its tip before exploding out from the nose of his shaft in a chunked, yellow-white flourish.

Appropriately, what escaped Enma’s throat as the double thick wad of plaster was caked to Tsunade’s face was just as, if not more volatile than his orgasm itself.

“NNNOUUUGHH!!! I’M GETTING T’ DUMP COCK JUICE ALL OVER TSUNADE’S FACE!!!” worn from an entire day of teasing, everything that he had bottled up inside himself surged across his lips all at once. “TAKE IT ALL! I’M GONNA SPLATTER IT ONTO YOUR FACE UNTIL IT’S CAKED UNDERNEATH IT!!”

Contained within Enma’s exclamations was a declaration that most men (and women) may’ve perceived as a threat. Where Saburo Enma was concerned, it was tantamount to a promise. Contained in the first chunked wad of semen released from the tip of his cock was a volume of stale reproductive porridge that an average male might produce in a fortnight. Launched up to a stopping point at the left edge of Tsunade’s forehead, its contents trailed down this side of her face as a thumb-width thread before bottoming out into concentrated wad more than twice its thickness. Discolored and clotted, the wriggling adhesive experienced no difficulty clinging to the smooth flesh set beneath it, and did not move an inch once set. It was beyond bestial; a rank tar far too virile to have been produced inside the human body.

And it was only the first. Subsequent to its eruption was the release of several other yellow-white strands of semen very much like it. These the same opaque, darkly-shaded yellow white as their predecessor, their surging from Enma’s cocktip haphazardly draped grotesque wads of semen all about the left side of Tsunade’s face. Congested with overfed tadpoles and unused nutrients such that the compilation of a mere 4 across the region rendered her skin invisible save for the occasional thread-wide sliver of smooth white flesh, their continued eruption from Enma’s length did not bode well for the future of her features. Only seconds into an orgasm stockpiled for weeks on end, it was likely that far more than the left side of her face would be required to entertain it.

Tsunade herself was completely unaware of this. However much of her complexion was muddied by cock juice, she continued to grin up at Enma in anticipation of his review. Not the clumping of semen atop an eyelid already glued shut with the substance, nor the formation of an especially curd-riddled second layer, nor even the drowning of her Strength of a Hundred Seal underneath the substance proved a sufficient stimuli to draw her back into reality.

She did not need to understand her reality to react to it, however. Tempted on a whim to finally peel her semen glutted features off the still-spurting tip of Enma’s cock, Tsunade turned her skull to face his orgasm head on. Doing so just in time to catch the next blurt of cock juice that leapt from his cock along the middle of her face, she subsequently adopted the same unmoveable contentment that had seen its left side caked with two nastily distributed layers of seed. Undaunted in the face of her perfect pores smothering underneath a clotted papier-mache of wriggling sludge, she allowed comparably fattened ejections of nut to streak across center-biased angles up the length of her face until her right eye joined its counterpart underneath a ridge of semen.

Comically, it was  _ this  _ that Tsunade took as Enma’s response to her massage.

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere with me, but I do still like to hear it, hehe.” she chirped, mouth framed by semen. “I do still have to get going soon, so if you could keep the rest of your review brief, I’d appreciate it.”

Every glob of semen spurted against her face was to Tsunade a string of words uttered from her patient. The quivering of fattened sperm cells against her pores were critiques, and the rank heat produced by the semen layers caked to her face were regular utterances of praise. As neither sensation was anywhere close to its peak in quality, her mind perceived Enma as rambling incessantly in search of a way to properly express himself.

As seconds turned to minutes and the unfolding of his orgasm neared its end, a handful of novel stimuli were translated into his closing arguments. When the glutted splotches of semen blasted against her face were made too large to accept additional layers, the continued outflow of cum against them resulted in fractions of Enma’s load descending into contact with her bust. First in the form of the occasional glob, then finally in the form of massive, semi-solid chunks, a fraction of the same unsightly mire-caking that had taken over her face was transplanted onto the peak (and to a lesser extent, the face) of her bust.

Throughout their descent, Tsunade maintained her motionlessness just as she had whilst accepting the brunt of Enma’s orgasm. Then, when finally the jetting of nut from the nose of his shaft came to an end, she sprang up to her feet as if someone had demanded that she rise at that very moment.

“Haha, sounds like someone is finally satisfied. I’ll leave you to the rest of your evening then. Try not to disappoint Nara at that job, you hear?” speaking out as though Enma had addressed her, Tsunade produced this utterance whilst waving her dominant hand to signal her departure.

This done, she didn’t produce another word. Making her way out of the apartment the same way she had entered, she left her ‘patient’ without a single complaint as to the gross excess of semen covering her face and breasts.

Obvious implications aside, her failure to comment on the subject was likely for the best. No matter how he was prompted, Enma was unlikely to respond.

Not to sound, not to sensation, and certainly not to words. 


	3. Enma Does His Job Sort Of But Mostly Just Nuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Against his better judgement, Enma tackles the one thing he has avoided for most of his adult life: gainful employment. Under the watchful eyes of a fat-assed restaurant owner who understandably resents both his appearance and work ethic, the comfortable monotony of his daily life is quickly replaced by monotony of a different nature...
> 
> That is until Tsunade and her equally-milf-aged friends decide to patronize the restaurant and consume meals consisting of his sweat, semen, smegma, and pubes, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You niggas should probably ask yourselves how down you are with Chitei no Nikuya before diving in. I'm just saying.

Amidst the numerous eateries of Konohagakure exist those whose offerings and reputation attract a particular sort of clientele. Hidden behind chains bolstered by consistency and word of mouth, these smaller restaurants offer a departure from the ‘conformity’ of what is known to work in the hospitality industry, and in doing so provide experiences that those disenchanted with these norms derive a great deal of comfort from. The food offered by these eateries may not be crafted with the delicate artistry of the village’s top grade restaurants, and as well, the flavors that they offer may not be as refined. Nevertheless, the ubiquity seen in them presently remains alluring enough to hold the customer bases attracted to them through thick and thin.

Perhaps the most hidden of these ‘hidden gems’ is ‘Ritsuko’s Family Restaurant’. Established by Genjuro Ritsuko prior to the instatement of the third Hokage, the restaurant’s persistence to the present day stands as a testament to the power of tradition. Following Genjuro’s passing, ownership of the restaurant was passed down to his son, and his son after him. 

Currently, the restaurant is owned and maintained by Tadamiko Ritsuko: great-great granddaughter to Genjuro and the first female to take up the mantle in the restaurant’s history. Like her predecessors, Tadamiko has maintained the restaurant by investing herself in it. Rather than merely owning the location and staffing it, her days are spent working within it as its primary chef and staff manager. By virtue of her leadership and the persistence of several long-time staff members keen on supporting the location into the future, public opinion (and knowledge) of the restaurant has seen significant strides in recent years.

With these gains came an equivalent number of growing pains. Such was the restaurant’s growth that Tadamiko was eventually required to employ new staff members equipped to facilitate their first steps into the ‘modern world’. A child of the modern age in her own right, the needs of her restaurant moved her to seek appropriate applicants from the village’s employment bureau lest open invitations attract undesirable candidates.

For the most part, her decision proved a potent one. Handpicked by Shikamaru Nara, the employees that she obtained were similarly youthful and dedicated individuals eager to contribute to the maintenance of a restaurant…

All save one.

Amongst the employees that Tadamiko received was one that she wished to be rid of from the moment that they met. Large, slovenly, slow, repulsive; all of the words one might use to describe him were descriptors of an individual unfit to serve in a restaurant. Worse still, his aptitude for the position itself proved low enough for her to compile just cause for his termination within a week.

In spite of his shortcomings, this individual currently remains an employee of Ritsuko’s. No matter the number of times she thought on it, Tadamiko could not bring herself to go through with terminating the man within his first month of service.

Something inside her wouldn’t let her.

Now on the eve of one of the most important private events in her restaurant’s history, only time will tell whether or not the ‘ubiquity’ invited into Ritsuko’s midst by his presence will prove alluring, or cripplingly detrimental to the establishment’s future…

-

In the years that he had spent living a life dominated by a genjutsu beyond his control, Saburo Enma had never once wished to die. Not one of the incidents that he endured, no matter how grating or unpredictable, was so bad as to make the ‘good’ in his life seem unappealing by comparison. In a strange way, these events actually bolstered his desire to live. Partly by fueling his desire for a day wherein his power might come under his control and partly as a result of the perverse anticipation he held towards the next imposition of sexual pleasure that he was to face, his languid plod throughout life was rarely without a form of motivation with which to sustain itself. Even if the general shape of his daily life went unchanged for its remaining duration, Enma believed that the persistence of these desires was capable of pushing him through it—happily or otherwise.

The Saburo Enma of the present no longer believed this. Seated atop a bench set just ahead of his place of work soaked in the sunlight of a late summer afternoon, his only desire in that moment was to die. To him, dying on such a sunny, stifling day was preferable to returning to his shift at work. It was preferable to continually attempting to function whilst his seasonal allergies congested his skull with mucus, and was utterly ideal in comparison to dragging his sweat-drenched frame through another minute of his existence.

Seated atop this bench, Enma’s disdain for reality led him to imagine the shape of a world wherein he no longer existed. His mind’s eye nearly captured it as well; if lacking in most every other relevant aspect, creativity was something that came naturally to him. Yet, for all of the silent effort he invested, the rule at the root of his latest day of suffering went unchanged.

What is imagined and what is realized remain apart until they are not.

“Enma-kun!! Could I get your help plating in here? Your break was over 10 minutes ago!” a feminine voice shouted. “Today is the worst possible day for you to be slacking off! Just give me a little bit of effort for the new few hours, will you!?”

Partway through the feminine outburst, Enma dragged himself to his feet and turned on his heel to begin towards re-entering his workplace. Swiftly consumed by air choked with moisture and scented to drench his mouth with saliva, his progression through the vacant restaurant soon became one labored by hunger as well as fatigue. With time, his gait was reduced to a near-waddle, and eventually became one in earnest when the waistline of his pants abandoned the containment of his swollen beer gut’s lower reaches for a clean descent into contact with his ankles.

Consequently, the Saburo Enma that arrived within the stifling depths of the restaurant’s backend was the man in his prime. Clay-colored skin freshly drenched in a layer of reeking, sweat-infused grease, hair-plastered arms and gut largely exposed to the open air, and gleaming, semi-erect cock exposed alongside a sea of gnarled pubes, his presence was one woefully ill-suited for a locale supposedly dedicated to the preparation of food.

And yet, he was there; an unsightly bus boy apparently ‘too vital’ to be removed.

On his entrance, Tadamiko Ritsuko—his employer and the woman who had called him into the kitchen—addressed him with hands on her hips and a frown on her face.

“There you are! I was starting to think you might’ve—” barely half way through her intended utterance, the scent and flavor of the air ahead of Enma sealed her lips and drew her right hand up into a reflexive cupping of her nostrils. If not for her prior exposure to a number of exotic herbs and spices, the rank miasma was certain to have caused her eyes to water as well.

Within a few breaths filtered through her palm, both her nose and mind re-acclimated to the reality of her employee’s stench and allowed her to continue speaking.

“God, you somehow smell even worse. Do you even shower before you come into work, or is even that too much trouble?” she complained. “Everyone here might be used that sour mixture of sweat and god knows what, but that’s no excuse for you to make it worse. I mean, come on! Between that smell and the way you look, it’s a miracle that no one has tried to report us for violating health & safety standards!”

Barely conscious to begin with, Enma took his latest berating in stride. The mucus clogging his sinuses rendered most of the annoyance within Tadamiko’s tone mute, and his familiarity with the position of punching back blunted the sting that her words should have carried into a not-so-polite reiteration of the truth. Thus, though her complaints offered several opportunities for him to speak for himself, he didn’t.

Comparatively, silence was the far easier route for him to take.

“Ugh, just…forget it.” finally exhausting her stores of displeasure, Tadamiko eventually refocused her attentions on the reason she had demanded her lumbering employee’s presence. “Look, our guests are going to be here soon. If I screw this up after having so much time to prepare, my ancestors are going to roll in their graves. As an employee of Ritsuko’s, I need you to actually contribute for the next few hours. Can you do that for me?”

Having forgotten the reason for her anxiety, Enma produced an absent-minded nod in response to Tadamiko’s question. As he did so, his raised his left hand from force of habit, and indifferently scratched underneath his right armpit to alleviate an itch that had taken root at the region.

Seeing this, Tadamiko could only exhale more deeply.

“Great, fuck…” she muttered. “In that case, start garnishing those appetizer plates over there.”

Turning back behind her, Tadamiko pointed a finger towards a number of white plates adorned by summer-themed finger-foods.

“I want the main dishes to be warm, so I’ll be finishing up with those in just a little bit. You’re our only waiter today, so we’re just going to have to hope that the food appeals to them enough that they don’t think about where it’s coming from.” she explained.

This uttered, the young woman immediately turned into a trot back into the depths of the kitchen. Halted by a sudden stroke of inspiration just before she was completely out of sight, she turned on her heel to offer a final piece of advice towards Enma before it slipped from him thoughts.

“Oh, and for god sakes, put on your gloves, will you?”

Like this, Enma was abandoned within the front half of the kitchen mere minutes after entering it. With Tadamiko no longer visible or audible, the requests she had made trickled into the forefront of his mind alongside a telling realization as to the condition of his frame below the waist.

As only one of these things was related to bringing his latest day of sweaty labor to an end, Enma opted to walk first and think later. But, upon bringing himself opposite the prep-counter that had been pointed out to him, the state of his frame became too evident for him to ignore.

Evidently, Tadamiko had failed to notice that he wasn’t wearing any pants or underwear.

“Weird. Usually she yells at me to pull up my pants or secure them with leather or something.” thought Enma, hazily. “She also hates seeing my dick, doesn’t she? Shouldn’t she have been yelling like crazy or trying to hit me or whatever?”

“Unless…”

Thinking on the subject for a moment, Enma reasoned that the most likely cause for his employer’s strange behavior was his genjutsu. Obscuring his cock whilst presenting the rest of his body as normal was hardly an impressive illusion when compared to those it had created in the past. Why it had activated in the midst of a workday devoid of female customers remained beyond him, but as it had saved him from a scolding, pressing himself for an explanation did not strike him as especially purposeful.

Content, he opted to shrug instead.

“Oh well. Maybe it’s just trying to help me out for a change.” he thought. “It’s probably better if I don’t think about it. It’s not going to make the hours I gotta spend here go by any faster.”

“Now, let’s see. She wanted these plates prepped, right? How does it going again…”

Forgetting his supernatural trait, Enma adjusted his standing position to one looming above one of four saucer-sized snack plates set atop the counter. Leaning inward such that his gut neared contact with it and his line of sight was allowed to hover above its center, he began wracking his brain for memories concerning the preparation process he was supposed to have mastered in his time as an employee.

In doing so, he made himself anxious. Far too delirious and indifferent to recall the steps required of him, his straining himself to do so soon pushed his perception of the kitchen’s ‘obscene’ temperature to a new high, and in turn coaxed a fresh wave of perspiration from the pores of his skin. Without a moment’s notice, mountainous beads of musty sweat formed atop his forehead and forearms began dribbling off of his frame and down into contact with the plate beneath him. Each sized to match the mass of a flattened gumball, the inconsistent downpour resulted in the taiyaki set atop the plate receiving a thorough soaking with sweat throughout the seconds Enma spent staring at it.

Were the fluid at all comparable to normal perspiration, reversing the snack’s contamination would have been no more difficult than re-heating it and allowing it to cool. Where Enma’s sweat was concerned, such a method would sooner exacerbate the mess than resolve it. Contained within each mildly-opaque droplet of sweat that collided with the taiyaki was a fraction of the grease layered atop Enma’s skin. Comprised of baked-on perspiration dating back weeks and an unfathomable mixture of other substances born of its creator’s infrequent showering habits, the persistence of this rancid grime atop the pores from which his fresh sweat flowed resulted in their contents being mixed as the man perspired. Thus, whilst sweat from his pores coalesced to form the dollops that rained down onto the plate, so too did the substance consume fractions of the noisome grease layer into itself. The resultant concoction—a fluid presenting as a murky water touched by the slightest addition of spoilt cream—maintained a thickness just heavy enough to utterly soak the taiyaki’s crisp exterior into an unappetizing mushiness.

Comically, the complete ruination of the pastry with sweat coincided with Enma’s recalling the techniques required to ‘prep’ it. Blind, or perhaps simply indifferent to the difference between the plated pastry and those beside it, he outstretched his right hand towards a stainless steel pot of powdered sugar. After mildly dousing the taiyaki underneath a blanket of the substance, he discarded the tin so as to take up a bottle of chocolate syrup. Once centered within his grasp, he applied just enough pressure around the bottle’s midsection to draw a crudely decorative ‘drizzle’ of the confectionary over the taiyaki as well.

Believing himself saved, Enma moved on to the next taiyaki the moment he deemed the first to be finished. Applying himself just as Tadamiko had requested, he again leaned himself into a hover over top the treat to initiate its preparation. Nevertheless, the ‘effort’ required from him in doing so resulted in the same excess of cloudy sweat soaking the pastry’s face before a meagre mixture of sugar and chocolate were loosely dumped on top of it.

Having established a rhythm, the remaining taiyaki were adorned similarly. Within a handful of painstakingly sweaty and ruinous minutes, all of the plates that Tadamiko had left out for him to prepare were skillfully dressed in a grossly-biased mixture of sweat and sugar.

By his effort’s end, Enma’s accomplishments left him brimming with a bleary-eyed pride. So much so, in fact, that his first thought after the fact was to report the ‘good news’ to Tadamiko.

This in mind, Enma turned, and began following his nose through the kitchen’s back end. Quick to catch sight of Tadamiko sandwiched between row-aligned kitchen counters consumed by pans, bowls, stoves, and seasonings, he thoughtlessly shifted into a waddle straight towards her after the fact.

Unlike her employee in several aspects, Tadamiko maintained the self-awareness to both recognize Enma’s approach and acclimate to its inevitability. At the sight of him, she squished her midsection against the counter-edge to her left in an attempt at making herself as small as possible.

“Wow, done already? I honestly expected you to be stuck with those 5 plates until I came back.” overtaken by genuine surprise at her employee’s efforts, excitement could be picked out as a garnish set atop the hurried quality of her voice. “Anyway, that’s great. Since you’re here, you might as well help me finish with the entrees. The sooner we get everything done the better, right?”

So far as Enma was concerned, the ‘best’ circumstance for him involved no work at all. But, as this was not currently possible for him, the possibility of freeing himself from the humid kitchen sooner rather than later proved appealing enough to motivate him into a smooth and painless agreement to Tadamiko’s suggestion.

“O-Okay. I’ll try not to get in your way.” he replied, huskily. “What should I do first? I think I’m kinda sweaty, so maybe I should work with something that isn’t fluffy or whatever?”

To this, Tadamiko produced a confused cocking of her head whilst making sure her hands remained involved in stirring one of the sautees ahead of her.

“I did say you stunk, but you look a little less sweaty now, to be honest.” she replied. “Whatever, no worries—sanitation is just as important as the cooking itself, so I’m not going to fault you for actually making an effort. If you’re worried about it, you can handle the stirring and seasoning for the dips and sauces I prepared.”

Privy to the fact that what she was talking about was likely to be missed without a form of demonstration, Tadamiko turned her gaze towards a trio of bowls directly ahead of the cooking station she was facing and briefly tipped her head towards them.

“They’re right there, see? The cream cheese base needs to get stirred before it gets too clumpy, and I wanted to put some paprika in the greek yogurt mixture so it doesn’t end up too bland. You remember the route to take with that, right?” she continued.

“S-Sure, of course…” Enma stammered, nervously. “Should I just circle around and get started, t-then?”

Strangely, this suggestion drew Tadamiko into a vehement shaking of her head.

“Look, there’s no time for that! I need to be able to see what you end up doing to make sure you don’t go overboard. Just squeeze in behind me and get started, okay?”

Yet again, the tone of Tadamiko’s voice moved Enma forward. Without reflection on the nature of her request or whether or not he could manage her it, he nodded, and completed a slow, side-angled waddled in between the same set of counters she had nestled herself between. Once directly behind her, he turned to set his front opposite her back, then leaned inwards so as to reach around her frame and begin working with the bowls that she had pointed out.

It was at this point that Enma recalled the importance of forethought for his actions. Less than an inch of forward movement from his frame pressed the uncovered bloat of his gut against Tadamiko’s upper back, and mashed the fully-erect underside of his erection up against the clothed swell of her rear. Whereas the former happening was an acceptable inevitability realized through his doing nothing to bind the hairy, wife-beater-gloved bloat of his stomach, the latter seemed to him as a consequence imposed well ahead of schedule.

Incidentally, the beliefs fostered within him at that moment had no bearing on the reality of the matter. From his first day of employment onwards, the hearty swell of Tadamiko’s ass hadn’t changed. Produced as a byproduct of her hours spent standing in the kitchen that surrounded them and her willingness to thoroughly taste test each of her dishes—regardless of how nutrient-rich or fattening—the existence of the over-ripe melons of flesh that dominated her backside was in no way unnatural. Perhaps their crotch-smothering span and arousing squishiness could be defined as much, but relative to the cock set atop the clothed-crease made from their compression, even these traits could be argued as being commonplace.

Enma’s surprise at the squishy globes that greeted his cock was a consequence of his forgetfulness. Until he began leaning forward from behind her, the amount of attention that he directed towards Tadamiko was so minimal that the shape of her body may as well have been transient. Had he maintained even the slightest of memories concerning her, his circumstance could have been avoided. Presently, however, all that remained for him was endurance and long-suffering. 

Motivated by a fear of failure and the throbs of desire that wriggled through his member, Enma continued with his inward lean until his hands could be outstretched into contact with the bowls ahead of him. Soon forced to deepen the compression of his cock into Tadamiko’s assflesh in search of more length, he pushed the gesture as far as an impression of both of his palms against the exterior of the third of the three containers.

And then it hit him.

Making sense of it in the moment was difficult. Seemingly from out of nowhere, sensations akin to irritating, flame-warmed pinpricks were propagated from the base of his wrists all the way up to the fringes of his shoulders. Not an inch of his flesh was spared throughout their ascent. From his forearms to his biceps and triceps, the full surface area of his limbs were utterly consumed by a cloying itch before the sensation bottomed out inside the sweat-drenched mess of hair and musk inside of his armpits.

Though only maintained for a moment, these pin-pricks robbed Enma of his sanity. Driven to rid himself of the irritation that had consumed him, he wrenched his hands out of contact with the bowl between them, and immediately wrapped them in against his chest such that their fingers were granted direct access to his armpits. Left fingers submerged into his right pit and right fingers depressed into his left, he subsequently submitted himself to the only activity capable of soothing what ailed him.

He itched. Unconcerned with where he was and who was behind him, he dug his nails as deeply into the roots of his armpits hair as he could manage and wracked his fingers back and forth along their span.

What Enma sought from the gesture was precisely what he received. Several seconds spent vehemently scratching at the swamp(s) from which his armpit hair grew replaced the itching that had consumed the pits with a dull throb. In the process, however, he obtained several other results contrary to the unspoken ‘demands’ of his position. Upon peeling his fingers from underneath his armpits, the digits’ exteriors could barely be made out underneath the glaze of sweat and black armpit hair plastered to their surfaces. Albeit not to the extent that might suggest something was wrong with his frame physically, their coverage—a smelly mixture of fully uprooted strands and broken-off sections of others—suggested that the wired hair underneath his arms was long overdue for a cut. 

Initially, Enma did not see the contamination of his hands in this manner as being particularly important. In the first place, the task that had been assigned to him was one of stirring and seasoning—activities manageable with utensils and peripherals. The state of his fingers couldn’t be called ‘good’, but so long as they did not interfere with his work, their condition was irrelevant.

What life experience the man had garnered up until this point should have alerted him to the possibility of their condition being made relevant. Stalwart in his persistence as a hapless lummox, it nevertheless came as a jarring surprise to Enma when Tadamiko pushed her rear out to meet the impression of his crotch, and began turning her head so as to look back at his face and fingers.

If his limbs were seen as they were, there could be no telling what the exasperated woman might do. Beset by the unappealing possibility of explaining to Shikamaru Nara how he had managed to get fired within a month of his employment, Enma acted out of reflex. Stabbing his hands forward before Tadamiko could complete the rotation of her skull, he jammed the fingers of both of his hands into two of the three bowl mixtures set out ahead of them. Whilst depressing them up to the wrist, he angled his skull downward to meet the gaze Tadamiko cast towards him right as she chose to produce it.

This done, the only thing that he could do was smile.

“Y’know, if you worked like this every day, I’d have nothing to complain about. I have no idea why you never bother, but at least you’re stepping up where it counts.” Tadamiko began, smiling. “It looks like you’ve added just enough garnish to everything now, too. You can go ahead and start stirring; I’ll give it one last taste test once I’m sure you’re finished.”

As she spoke, Tadamiko’s attention was firmly fixated on Enma’s face. Though her preoccupation with the ‘effort’ that her employee was suddenly exerting prevented her from noticing the fact that his hands were depressed into the food he ought to have been stirring--a boon that Enma greatly appreciate--it also drew her attention off of the meals that she had busied herself with preparing up until this point.

Soon, though, the sound of a sizzling *POP!* from one of the skillets at her side sounded out to drag her attention back where it belonged.

“Tch shit! You handle that, Enma-kun—I have to concentrate!”

This uttered, she pressed her rear further out against the throbbing slab of cockmeat squished up against her rear, and afterwards slipped into a frantic swivel from her left to her right. Having only become distracted for an instant, her instincts as a chef told her that she could recover from the happening by accelerating the rate at which she monitored the food simmering below her. 

Utterly indifferent to the pulsing mass of heat and weight behind her, she busily threw herself from one side of her workstation to the next without stopping to consider what its source could be. To her, working under such conditions was normal. Like the heat wafting up against her face from the counter surface, the warmth and weight digging into her rear was more than likely a combination of Enma’s body heat and the oven behind her. Swiveling her hips against the edge of such an ‘oven’ and occasionally swallowing the focal point of its heat into a fabric-guarded embrace between the fat of her ass cheeks was harmless—more so given that the only person present to observe the happening was busy with his own set of tasks.

Unbeknownst to Tadamiko, the equilibrium bought through her maintaining this mindset was one destined to be short lived. Whereas her efforts allowed her to move on to effectively plating some of her dishes and moving others aside to cool, they at the same time subjected the pent phallus meat sandwiched between her asscheeks to a pendulumic suffocation with the fat of her rear. Each time she turned to the left, the flesh of her left buttocks was ground against the mess of blood vessels and cockmeat at the left side of Enma’s cock. Similarly, each flick of her hips to the right treated the right side of his erection to a maddeningly-soft compression against the flesh of her right buttocks. Further, as the outward cocking of her rear against Enma’s crotch had yet to lose any of its intensity, every shift that she produced was one backed by a consistent projection of pressure against his erection.

Enma’s familiarity with the masturbatory motions that Tadamiko produced did not make them any easier for him to endure. In the first place, they had nearly crippled him—such weight and warmth applied to the bare flesh of an erection as well-used as his own was tantamount to what another man might endure if plunged into a lubrication-stuffed onahole. 

To make matters worse, the hours that he had worked in the lead-up to his latest had left him without the time or energy to masturbate. This left the lurid loaf of flesh at his crotch starved for stimulation, and abnormally sensitive to the stroking and grinding that Tadamiko produced with her rear. So far as his frame was concerned, his member had been swallowed into another cloth-swathed sleeve of feminine flesh that existed for the sole purpose of threading noisome strands of semen out of his balls. 

What his prior experience with such stimulation  _ had  _ earned him was the ability to manage his frame’s harboring of this opinion. Though his cock and balls felt that things were one way, Enma knew for a fact that they were another.

Focusing in on this fact bought him time. Following Tadamiko’s return to her original rhythm of preparation, Enma reacquired the wherewithal to manipulate his frame as he wished. Hands still depressed into two bowls filled to the brim with cream mixtures, his thoughts immediately shifted towards extracting them and somehow cleaning them off before Tadamiko recognized what had happened.

As soon as his thoughts fell to this subject, his eyes suggested that escape from it was an impossibility. A single glance at both of the bowls revealed that the armpit hair (and all of the grease responsible for their adherence to his fingers) had been consumed by the heavier, stickier contents of the bowls’ cream mixtures.

Seeing this, Enma was forced to think at the same speed that his heart throbbed.

“Fuck, how did I not know that this would happen?” he lamented. “Even if I take my hands out now, whatever is in these bowls is totally ruined. O-Once Tadamiko notices, i-it’s all over…”

Frantic, Enma ran through scenario after scenario within his mind in search of one wherein he was not made to suffer for his actions. Quickly consumed within a soundless, timeless void dominated by depictions of his own failure, the seconds that he spent within it were made to feel like hours. 

These were hours of repetitive, humiliating failure. Of termination, of lamentation, of subjection to a reality from which he couldn’t escape…

Of all of the things that he feared most.

They were this way until they weren’t. Whether by way of happenstance or providence, a scenario wherein he lived to see another day flashed ahead of his eyes just long enough for him to recognize its attainability. 

If his shortcomings were destined to be observed, what remained for him was predetermined as well.

He needed only embrace these ‘remains’, and hope.

“If this doesn’t work, my life really is fucked…”

Whilst these words echoed through his mind, Enma wrenched both of his hands from their creamy prisons. Maintaining his position leaned over Tadamiko’s frame, he balled a fist with his left hand and thoughtlessly plunged it into the untouched bowl that remained to be stirred. This done, he stirred it; thoroughly and consistently such that the remaining armpit hair glued to his fingers were infused into it to the same extent as the mixtures beside it. Trusting his eyes to mark the point at which he completed this task, he rotated his wrist clockwise until the mixture’s marring suggested that he stop.

Subsequently, his attention shifted from the food ahead of him into an understandable fixation on Tadamiko’s frame. Investing everything into simply ‘taking’ what the future had in store for him, he began thrusting his hips back and forth against the swiveling and grinding that she produced with her hips. Establishing a metronome and concentrating his thrusts was impossible; her movements were far too haphazard for him to match them. Comparatively, wildly driving his crotch upwards and downwards to match some fraction of her motions was far more manageable. As well, it accomplished everything that a more dedicated thrusting pattern would have and more. Each time he pressed himself through the squishy embrace of her asscheeks, the swollen blood vessels threaded and coiled about the exterior of his erection enjoyed a combination of compression and grinding far rougher than could have been obtained through consistency.

Then and there, what Enma required was impact. As Tadamiko’s motions had already welled a considerable volume of semen within his crotch, he needed only subject himself to enough raw stimulation to draw it out. If he managed this, he’d have everything that he required to ensure that all of Tadamiko’s meals were made consistent with one another.

Galvanized by thoughts of salvation, he applied himself. Matching her motions (or lack thereof) throughout her final stretches of preparation, he aggressively fed stimulation into the reddened meat of his cock until the pressure at its base was exacerbated just short of intolerability. The moment he felt as though his cock could take no more than another handful of strokes, he grit his teeth, and finally stepped backwards to separate his crotch from Tadamiko’s rear.

This done, he began to wait. Silent in spite of the desire that coursed through his crotch, he once again committed himself to observing Tadamiko’s actions in search of an opportunity to make use of them.

In doing so, Enma unwittingly subjected himself to an additional 5 minutes of suffering. In this time, Tadamiko completed the entrees she had slaved over and ‘plated’ each one in preparation to deliver their finishing touches.

For each of the bistro plates that she filled, the extent of the effort she had expended was conveyed to Enma in more detail. First, a perfectly seared salmon-steak gleaming with its own juices was set aside to her right. Behind it came a golden-brown shrimp vegetable stir-fry consisting of juicy vegetables and rice neither too soggy nor too charred by the time it had spent in its skillet. Next came a bowl of chilled udon ideal for a summer afternoon, and several knuckles of crispy karaage sided with cucumber and carrot. Last but not least, a uniquely-baked pizza was drawn from a nearby oven and gently slipped atop the widest of the dishes set out in anticipation of the event.

Sexual starvation was not a potent enough sensation to blind Enma to Tadamiko’s talent. Cooking such meals to restaurant quality near simultaneously was a task that only the most confident of chefs would have taken on. Doing so successfully was even more impressive; as far as his ears could tell, the guests that she was anticipating had yet to arrive.

Appreciation for a ‘thing’ and the cherishment of it were two very different things for Enma. At the first opportunity offered to him by the completion of Tadamiko’s preparation, he stepped out from behind her to take up a position at her left. Here, he shamelessly dropped his right hand down to the nose of his member and began stroking himself per the demands of the rancid load built up within the root of his crotch.

A handful of strokes were all he needed. Within three shameless pumps of his cream-gunked hand just below the root of his member, a pressure-backed thread of semen owning the girth of an adult-male thumb eruption from the tip of his length straight towards the assortment of plates and bowls set out ahead of his crotch. Directed at no one of the five meals in particular, the peak of the forearm-length strand collided with the edge of the udon bowl set at the head of the food arrangement before drizzling down into an off-centre bisection of the pizza at its center. Owning a length sufficient to complete the effort (bisecting the pizza’s length) and even infringe upon the largely-empty plate surface of the tuna steak beneath it, the fattened serpent of reproductive fluid served as an appropriately-obscene ‘herald’ for the eruptions of nut that were to follow.

The standard set by this thread was of both scale and quality. Following its release, the steaming, semi-solid grime brought into contact with the dishes ahead of Enma’s crotch was revealed as maintaining traits more suited to a half-melted wad of cheese than reproductive fluid. Owning a buttercream yellow coloration undoubtedly influenced by a mixture of urine and fermentation alongside a virulent congestion with chunks of what appeared to be a fluid-influenced curd, the substance’s successful passage through Enma’s length was a miracle in and of itself. Save the gelatinous lumpiness of the nutrient slurry that enveloped these chunks of sludge, his cum did not own the sort of viscosity one might imagine to be a prerequisite for discharge through a typical phallus.

But Enma wasn’t typical. After the delivery of the first, a flurry of strokes from his right hand coaxed similarly sized and composed strands of cockjuice through his member with the same and aggression as the first. These strands were delivered at far more purposeful positions than their mutual predecessor, however. Fighting against his desire to aimlessly rid himself of the semen clogging his balls, Enma used the grasp he had placed at his cock’s midsection to progressively divide the contents of his load across all 5 of the dishes set out ahead of him.

From the 3 rd strand he released to the 8 th , a tweaking of his wrist to the left saw the fried chicken and vegetables plated beside the pizza thoroughly soaked underneath several glutted threads of semen. Whereas the vegetables of the dish could have passed as having been covered by spoilt dressing, the chicken itself was layered with sludge such that significant patches of crispy breading were rendered soggy, and subsequently obscured underneath discolored semen.

From the 8 th to the 13 th , an inward impression of his crotch resulted in a fraction of his orgasm being vomited into the udon bowl at the arrangement’s peak. Owing to the moderate width of the bowl and the thickness of the noodles just below the broth’s fluid line, these five strands collectively offered a volume sufficient for obscuring the bowl’s contents from perception. Instead made to seem as though it was a bowl of chunked jizz and not noodle, the sight of it was such that one would be forced to assume that a strange topping had been thoroughly heaped overtop the dish in preparation for consumption.

The 13 th to the 19 th created a similar covering atop Tadamiko’s stir fry. By angling his member off to the right, Enma repeatedly drenched the perfectly-rounded exterior of the rice dish with a substance just fluid enough to adhere to it (the exterior of the rice) without disturbing it. The underside of these strands did absorb a fair few grains of rice into their volumes, this indicated by the depression of fractions of the half-sphere’s (i.e a half-sphere of plated rice) face in the seconds following their delivery. All the same, their haphazard distribution limited their ‘effect’ on the dish’s presentation to that of a heavy sauce.

Comparatively, the state that the salmon steak was left in was nearly artistic. From the 19 th to a final, painstaking 24 th , Enma’s semen applied an overbearing and all-too-consistent caking of tartar to the steak’s face. Rendered largely invisible underneath these layered strands with the exception of the occasional streak of pan-searing, the dish’s nature alongside the unused plate space surrounding it resulted in a very natural appearance for the stinking semen that surrounded it.

When Enma’s final dollop of semen was blurted out onto the face of the pizza at the core of these dishes, the appreciation that Enma felt for Tadamiko’s effort was at last bent inward at himself.

Now, all of the dishes that she had prepared were just as ‘ruined’ as the mixtures made to supplement them. If all went to plan and the activation of his genjutsu continued to escalate, no one—not the guests they were created for, nor Tadamiko, nor anyone else—would recognize them for what they were.

He only needed to continue playing his part.

Expectedly, Tadamiko remained completely detached from the mess made of the meals she had crafted. Throughout Enma’s orgasm, her mind perceived her once-bumbling employee as nervously pruning the dishes she had prepared precisely as he had been taught. Allowing him free rein in commemoration of the event, she waited until Enma pulled away from the dishes before moving in to take them up herself.

Slipping two of the four plates atop her palms, she drew them up to chest height, then turned towards Enma in presentation of an abrupt smile.

“Alright, it’s now or never! I think I heard them walk in a little while ago, so let’s not waste any time…” she began, grinning.

**“It’s not every day that the 5** **th** **Hokage and her friends come to visit your restaurant, right?”**

**-**

**STUNNING REALITY**

Enma had been told that the 5 th Hokage and her companions would be arriving at the restaurant that afternoon. He had been told this several times, and on several different occasions; throughout the week leading up to the event, it was the only thing that Tadamiko spoke about. Somehow, though, he still managed to forget it. Were it not for Tadamiko’s idly reiterating this fact prior to their walkout into the dining room, the sight of the individuals that he was to serve for the afternoon was likely to have destroyed his mind with a combination of fear and anxiety.

Through the information that he received, Enma acquired the opportunity to acclimate himself to his reality that much faster. Today, he would not be trusting his genjutsu to fool the senses of an ordinary group of young women. For better or worse, this was to be the day wherein his innate ability successfully deceived Tsunade, Mitarashi Anko, Shizune, and Inuzuka Tsume simultaneously.

If it didn’t, then it would simply be the end of him.

Understanding this changed little for him. His fear of failure did not disappear, nor did his trust in the capriciousness of his genjutsu grow any deeper out of necessity. He had simply submitted himself to the inevitable. Given that there were only two ways that the event could unfold, worrying himself over its finer details would only serve to make him more anxious.

This ‘acceptance’ that he embraced was only allowed to persist within him throughout his walkout behind Tadamiko and the plating of the taiyaki prepared as their appetizers.

At this, reality demanded more of him.

“What did I tell you, girls? Exactly as I described, right?” raising her voice partway through Enma’s lumber around the table, Tsunade suddenly redirected her companions’ attention onto the unsightly mass of his frame. “If you can believe it, Enma-kun was totally unemployed only a month ago. Look at him now, though! He’s already helping a restaurant dish out meals like ours on a daily basis. Pretty impressive, right?”

Enma did not utter a word in response to the blonde’s praise. Necessity dictated that he meet the gazes of her friends with a smile, but save this, he did his utmost to remain uninvolved with them.

In its own way, this decision resulted in his subjection to something worse than what he might’ve endured had he injected himself into proceedings willingly.

“It’s all thanks to  **the treatment Tsunade-sama gave his legs** .” chimed Shizune. “I’m sure he’s put some effort into the job, but it probably would’ve been much more difficult for him without her help.”

“Jeez, it’s gonna be classic Shizune today, isn’t it?” retorted Anko, giggling. “No one at this table needs a refresher on what Tsunade can do, so maybe you can hold off on all the compliments until we finish eating?”

“W-Wha, but I—”

“I’m with Anko on this one, Shizune.” interjecting from out of her silent observation of proceedings, Tsume added her voice to the conversation whilst taking the taiyaki plated for her up into her right hand. “Let’s just have a nice lunch and try to catch up. We can hear all about what Tsunade’s been up to right from the source, after all.”

Through Shizune’s utterance, the attentions of the women at the table were corralled in towards one another. Recognizing this, Enma found himself saddled with AN opportunity to silently take in each of their frames without drawing undue attention to himself.

It was instinct. This same opportunity could have been purposed for excusing himself, or perhaps even thought as to how to get himself out of work altogether.

Instead, it was used for leering.

Unlike Tsunade, all three of the other women at the table owned features indicative of their ages. Thin wrinkles could be seen embedded into the corners of their eyes, and the manner in which they wore their respective hairstyles owned a decidedly antiquated feel. Like Tsunade, however, the shape and swell of their frames suggested that they were far younger and healthier than their years may’ve implied. The black kimino favored by Shizune alongside its mesh undershirt, Anko’s loosely-drawn pink kimono selected for a fashionable passage into her golden years, the lime-green number worn by Tsume—all three of the outfits worn by the women owned top sections bloated by round and massively-succulent breasts. Ranging from a ‘modest’ F-cup for Shizune to a pair of G(s) maintained between Anko and Tsume, ‘missing’ the mounds as their cleavage spilt from the fabric that surrounded them was impossible in all three cases.

Enma was far from unused to laying eyes on oversized breasts made to wobble at the slightest shift or gesture from their owners. As things stood, opportunities to do so were one of the sole remaining constants that he could count on throughout a given day.

For him, the issue was one of concentration. Three milf-like shinobi sporting such mounds was a manageable sight. Three such women as accompanied by Tsunade herself was for him somewhere between a dream come true and hell on earth. Such was his affinity for the sight that the images he consumed with his eyes moisturized his mouth with saliva and drew a single, prolonged growl from out of the core of his stomach.

While unbecoming, his stupefaction was harmless. Like the prolonged exposure of his erect cock, Enma’s prolonged, and occasionally noisy ogling did not attract any attention from the women seated at the table. Then, their attentions remained split on one another and the delicious meals that Tadamiko had plated ahead of them. Upon the resumption of his lumber around the table, and later still, his return to his starting position behind Tsunade, whether or not they were even aware of his presence remained unclear.

As if to resolve this ambiguity, Tsunade abruptly stood from her seat ever-so-slightly and extended her torso across the table towards its center. Taking up a pizza cutter set off to the edge of the steaming pie, she began dividing the semen-splattered dish into pieces that she and her companions could share equally.

In the midst of doing so, she turned her head towards Tadamiko.

“Thanks again for having us on such short notice, Tada-chan. Everything looks absolutely delicious; your father would be grinning from ear to ear if he could see how you’ve kept the place going.” she started, smiling.

Far too preoccupied with her guests’ initial perception of her dishes, this address caught Tadamiko completely off-guard. Shaking her head nervously, she immediately stepped backwards so as to separate herself from the bashfulness she was feeling.

“O-Oh, it’s not a problem. I-I’m just trying to do the same job I usually do.” she stammered. “A-Anyway, Enma-kun will be waiting on you four, but I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything. T-Thanks again for choosing Ritsuko’s!”

Privy to the source of her discomfort, Tsunade did not make much of a fuss at her departure, Convinced that the best thanks she could give Tadamiko required a thorough enjoyment of the meals she had prepared, she instead refocused herself on the strangely arduous task of dividing a pizza.

Unbeknownst to her, her investment in this task provided the meals’ attendant with far more ‘thanks’ than he could handle. Leaned over the table as she was, the ridiculous, chair-ruining bloat of her ass was pushed out into contact with the spine of her chair, and more detrimentally, the man situated behind it.

Not unlike her breasts in regards to excess and gloss, the wobbling peach was presented to Enma in a manner that he was very unused to. Likely as a result of Tsunade’s attachment to her youth, the dark-blue ¾ pants that clothed the lower half of her frame owned a waist-width just-barely suited for the curvature of her hips and the swell of her ass. Standing up as she had dragged the tightly-fitted garment off of her hips, and peeled it through the beginnings of a fat-pinching descent across the face of her buttocks. Though the beachball-esque scale of the rounded peach sections and their inundation with malleable fat prevented the garment from descending far enough to induce indecency, Enma’s position standing above Tsunade’s frame still provided him with the sight of a great deal of her rear’s bare, sweat-peppered cleavage.

Squishy, glossy, and blemish-less despite its mass, the sight of her flesh accomplished the impossible. Rendered hungrier and far more indifferent than before, Enma began to drool. Already blighted with an oral cavity drenched in saliva from his earlier ogling, the presentation of Tsunade’s rear drew his lips apart, and allowed a lengthy outflow of murky digestive syrup to descend across the center of his lower lip towards the ground.

Were this thread of saliva allowed to collide with the ground, its existence would have been meaningless. But, as a direct result of Enma’s starved loom over Tsunade’s ass, the entirety of its contents descended into a skin-obscuring splatter against the peak of the ass cleavage that Tsunade was presenting. Made distinctly murkier and slimier by way of ‘collection’ atop the region, the substance’s continual outflow from Enma’s mouth soon resulted in the creation of a gooey well of spittle destined for descent across the face of her buttocks swell.

Before this could occur, gravity dictated otherwise. For as thick as Enma’s drool appeared, its viscosity could not be compared to the chunked, chewable nature of his semen. Within seconds of coagulation atop Tsunade’s ass, healthy fractions of the pool formed atop her rear began to drain from her cleavage’s peak through a descent down across the compressed inner-sides of her asscheeks.

This descent was one sluggish, but thorough. As Tsunade’s asscheeks were squeezed up against one another by the waistline of her pants, the width of the crease through which Enma’s saliva flowed was rendered as too narrow to facilitate a speedy inundation. This aside, the fluid’s sticky thickness was inherently resistant to some of gravity’s imposition. If not for the fact that so much of it was piled atop the peak of her asscheeks, its descent between them was likely to have required far more time. Akin to honey’s descent through a conventional drinking straw, the passage of several seconds resulted in only half of the crease’s span becoming clogged with saliva. Further, as the substance was not backed by any sort of ejective force, the width of the crease itself refused to widen in accommodation of it. Whilst its beginnings were clogged, the continual descent of additional saliva from Enma’s mouth resulted in an overflow of the substance over the face of Tsunade’s asscheeks. At this, the substance’s relative thinness (as compared to Enma’s semen) became truly lamentable. Were it only slightly thicker, one could have easily mistaken the rivulets of fluid descending across her cheeks as semen.

As promised by its beginnings, a half minute of Enma’s famished leering saw the crease ‘filled-in’ by saliva from its peak straight down to its midpoint. With additional spittle and time for drainage, the entirety of its span was guaranteed to share the fate of its top half.

In the end, neither of these things were availed in the amounts required to bring this about. Eventually, Tsunade ceased dividing the pizza at the table’s center and returned to her upright seated position to begin eating. This left Enma without a reason to drool, and at the same time provided him with a reason to stand upright himself.

Moments later, he found himself exposed to a form of stimulation that demanded closed-mouthed concentration.

Without warning, Tsunade began eating a slice of pizza topped with his semen.

“Waaaah umai~. It’s been ages since I’ve had a pizza topped with sauce like this!” Tsunade cooed, mouth partly filled with a combination of dough, cheese, and lukewarm semen. “The cheese mixes with the sauce so well, but the crust is still so fluffy! Getting to chew so much  **creamy, saucy cheese** like this with every bite really is the best  ♥ !”

Honest in her praise, Tsunade bit off another sizeable section of pizza the moment she finished speaking. In doing so, she inadvertently mushed a particularly fat thread of semen up against her upper lip, and at the same time smothered several curdled threads of the substance against the roof of her mouth. Upon biting off this section, both volumes of semen were mixed together with one another alongside comparably meagre amounts of cheese, dough, and sauce to recreate the unique flavor that she had praised.

Happily unaware of the fact that she was consuming more semen than she was pizza, she licked off the excess nut mushed up against her upper lip without a hint of reservation, and afterwards turned to her faithful attendant to gauge her perception of the dish.

Now, however, an aroused flush could be seen coloring her cheeks.

“How is it with the dipping sauce, Shizune? I really like it by itself, but Tada-chan wouldn’t have prepared so many different kinds if we weren’t supposed to use them.” she started, curiously. “Which one did you try?”

Having watched Tsunade’s mouth throughout the consumption of her second mouthful, Enma found his gaze pushed towards Shizune when the blonde turned to address her. Before his focus could be drawn outward to capture her face, this transition presented him with a pair of smooth, feminine lips peppered on both sides with grease-lathered threads of armpit hair.

His armpit hair.

No less taken with Shizune’s mouth than he had been with Tsunade’s, Enma was again drawn into a perverse trance as the older woman began speaking.

“Well, I’ve only had the cream-cheese one so far. Honestly, though, the way it’s seasoned really makes up for its thickness. I thought something like this would be too heavy to go well with pizza, but the seasoning in it mixes so well inside my mouth. It was kind of  **prickly and spicy** at first, but all of the cream makes it feel like I’m still eating something really flavorful  ♥ .”

So as to educate herself further, Shizune scooped up a second sauce dish and dolloped some of the thinner, yogurt-based dip into it. This done, she dipped a fresh edge of her square pizza slice into it, then folded the slice in at its edges so as to extract a healthy dollop of the mixture atop it. Then, with the same abandon Tsunade had displayed, she messily pressed it into her mouth and bit off a much larger chunk of it than was necessary for her to sample its flavor.

Seemingly content to roll a mixture of semen, pubic hair and pizza contents around the surface of her tongue, she afterwards chewed and swallowed the mouthful whilst a wide-eyed, red-cheeked awe took over the configuration of her face.

Behind a glutted * **GLRP** !* of semen down her throat, she continued speaking with an enthusiasm comparable to her companion’s.

“Wow, the yogurt one is even better! If you’re going to try one, you should start with that, Tsunade-sama!” she added, fingers idly pushing hair-infused globules of ‘sauce’ off of the corners of her lips and into her mouth. “It’s a little bit easier to chew, too. The pizza crust soaks it up very  **very** nicely  ♥ .”

Now the recipient of two answers as opposed to one, Tsunade produced an enthused “That so?” prior to popping her final morsel of pizza past her lips.

She did not jump into the consumption of a third immediately afterwards, however. Ahead of her, a still-steaming plate of salmon-steak was beckoning for consumption far louder than before. Unwilling to let any of Tadamiko’s effort go to waste, she decided on a whim to sample her entrée before trying more pizza.

To Enma, this decision was one of the most cock-fattening she could have made. Only moments after watching Shizune swirl pubes into her mouth, all signs began to point towards Tsunade making an even more captivating mess of her lips.

Intent of consuming the event when finally it came to pass, Enma’s training his eyes on the blonde blinded him to signage of an equally appealing event at the other side of the table.

Face inches away from a bowl of semen-covered udon and chopsticks in hand, Anko could be seen in the midst of preparing to consume her own entrée. Palate prepped by a taiyaki filled with her namesake and smeared by a salty icing of grease-tinged sweat, her desire for the sultry simplicity of chilled udon noodles was such that she was very nearly drooling into the bowl herself.

Before such a thing could come to pass, she put the substance welled within her mouth to good use. Pressing her chopsticks through the semi-solid sheet of cockjuice that obscured her udon from view, she afterwards worked her wrist and fingers to pull a healthy mouthful of the soaked threads up and out of the bowl. Then, without so much as a second glance at the chunked semen clumped atop their exteriors, she raised them just high enough for her to dip her skull downwards and slurp them into her mouth.

In her mind, she was consuming udon noodles as they were meant to be consumed. Spillage of broth or soup base against her lips was to be expected, as was the inadvertent consumption of the odd chunk of fluid-softened vegetable. The fact that the ‘broth’ splashed up against her lips was a collection of semi-solid chunks of semen wrung from off of her first mouthful of noodles did not register with her, nor did the clotting of thicker, greasier chunks of the substance at the back of her throat. As the sensations ‘fit’ with her expectations, she did not distrust the meal that she had produced them in the slightest. Like her friends before her, she chewed, slurped, and swallowed a musk-saturated mixture of food contents and semen as though it were a delicacy—all with an aroused enthusiasm manipulating her pale features as candy might’ve a child’s.

After her first mouthful, she was hooked.

“What the hell!? Why is this so good? Udon noodles this thick shouldn’t be so flavorful!” only moments after pushing chunks of semen down her throat, this question burst from Anko’s lips whilst her eyes studied the noodles and semen within her bowl in search of answers.

Well aware of the mess of nutrients’ inability to speak, she swiftly redirected her inquiry towards the woman eating at her side.

“Tsume, you’re a mom, right? How do you even make food taste this good?” she asked, hopeful innocence soaking her tone.

Presented this question in the midst of another distinctly-flavored spoonful of rice from her own entrée, Tsume begrudgingly rushed her way through the consumption of her mouth’s contents so as to respond to Anko in a timely manner. An Inuzuka through and through, the aged woman had no qualms stuffing her face with her gravy-chunked stirfry at her first opportunity. The moistness of the rice she was consuming and the inexplicable squirming of the gravy responsible for it had initially confused her, but after a fourth spoonful of it, the texture that it maintained became unimportant to her. Chewing the dish revealed flavors mixed between squid and what she imagined to be an aged cheese. As presented with rice as its base, the overall experience of consuming it became too hearty for her to dislike.

* **GLRP** * by satisfying * **GLRP** *, Tsume pushed fractions of the food bloating the red-painted exterior of her cheeks down her throat until only a few dregs of sludge remained plastered atop her tongue (and smeared to the roof of her mouth).

Then, and only then, did she answer her companion’s question.

“What kind of garbage question is that, Anko? Kiba hasn’t been a kid in decades, ya know.” she replied, voice congested by a combination of semen and annoyance. “Hell, all I fed him was meat growing up. S’a small wonder he managed to grow up at all.”

Coming from Tsume, Anko understood that this was as good an answer as she could hope to receive. Even now, the depth of response that she was capable of producing when faced with a question left much to be desired.

Rather than lament the wasted effort, Anko made the best of the situation as only she could.

“Heh, I guess that’s why he’s so fixated on that skirt he’s been chasing recently. The only thing that gets his appetite going is meat!” she teased, grinning.

A woman of relatively simple pleasures, Tsume found far more humor in Anko’s jab than a mother ought to have. Unprovoked, she went from a straight-faced adherence to Anko’s utterance to open-mouthed, uncontrollable laughter in less than a second.

Spirited and genuine, her display quickly attracted attention from those seated at the other side of the table.

Not all of this attention was especially positive, however. Obscured amidst Tsunade’s open chuckling and the stifled giggles that spilled from Shizune’s lips was the ejection of something that all four of the women should have regarded as repulsive. Coaxed into laughter in the same way that his guests had been, the persistence of Enma’s allergies resulted in his inadvertently irritating the inner lining of his nostrils, and subsequently sneezing a pregnant wad of mucus from the depths of his sinuses out into the airspace ahead of Tsume’s mouth.

How the discolored sludge ended up where it did was a question untouchable by both physics and philosophy. An index-finger-length expulsion of salty, yellow-white mucus made to bake within the sinuses of a man incapable of blowing his nose should not have cleared the distance that separated Enma’s face and Tsume’s mouth. The clumps of gelatinous snot that it contained should have invalidated the pressure behind its release, and had this failed to stop it, its irregular shape should have angled its trajectory in some direction other than the straight line that it chose.

What should have happened did not happen. Seemingly delivered by providence itself, the entirety of the greenish yellow ejection was blasted straight from Enma’s nose into contact with the slightly semen-smeared exterior of Tsume’s tongue.

Initially, neither Enma nor Tsume recognized the event for what it was. Whilst Tsume ceased laughing for a moment to swallow what she believed a wad of partly-chewed rice down her throat, Enma aggressively rubbed a finger underneath his nose so as to clear his upper lip of the mucus left atop it.

Past these events, only Tsume and her companions remained ignorant to the event. Tsunade and Shizune returned to eating, and after a brief pause, Anko and Tsume began throwing verbal jabs at one another in between bites of food.

Only Enma—transfixed by the split second image of his mildly-crusted mucus splattered across the face of Tsume’s tongue—was changed by the event. As aroused as he was stunned, he could do little more in that moment but ruminate on the image itself and bask in the ‘good fortune’ that his genjutsu had so graciously bestowed upon him.

It was in that moment that he became of the opinion that his ninja art could be trusted. The possibility of it one day failing to deliver him from the suffering that it imposed or trapping him within a scenario he couldn’t escape from could not be considered any less ‘real’, but whilst active, it was a god send.

When and if it failed him, it was likely to do so after putting a smile on his face. Given the shape of his life, this by itself was everything that he could have asked for and more.

Sufficiently satisfied by the realization, its passage prompted Enma to begin inching back from his position at the edge of his customers’ table. Equipped with a wealth of masturbatory fuel in the form of the sights he had observed, his frame felt overdue for a short break from the stresses of waiting on a table packed with famous kunoichi.

Tragically, sneaking remained one of many things that the portly man had no talent for. Less than a step back from his original position, movement in the corner of Tsunade’s eye prompted her to speak out before his departure could be properly initiated.

Despite all of the food she had consumed, there remained a dish that she had yet to try even now.

“Hey, where’re you going with that? Don’t tell me you brought it out just to bring it back to the kitchen?” she started, semen-stained lips bent into a frown. “I get that we’ve all eaten a ton at this point, but it’d be rude to Tada-chan if we didn’t give everything a shot.”

Raising her right hand, Tsunade waved the limb inward to encourage an approach from Enma.

“Here, there’s still some pizza left. Just bring it over here and all of us will try a bit before you go.”

At no point throughout this address was the meaning behind Tsunade’s words clear to Enma. All of the plates he had carried out from the kitchen were now sitting atop the dining table. Even with his genjutsu active, nothing that could be construed as a dish of food remained on his person.

Left without an inkling as to what she had referenced, an indirect inquiry into the ‘thing’ she was referencing became his safest path from out of the situation.

Inhaling sharply, he braced himself.

“U-Uh, a-are you talking about…” lost in the moment, Enma dropped his left hand past his crotch in hopes that the gesture might prompt Tsunade to be more specific.

Though he succeeded in this, he was made to wish that he hadn’t almost immediately afterwards.

“Yes, that little basin of spread you’re holding— **the yellow-white stuff with the peppercorns in it** .” Tsunade chirped. “I’m surprised you forgot about it. It smells so pungent its making my mouth water from all the way over here!”

With this, there could be no mistaking Tsunade’s meaning. The only substance that matched the description she had provided was the one caked in excess underneath the flesh-hood at the tip of his cock.

She was talking about his smegma. The 5 th Hokage was talking about the pube-riddled cockfilth allowed to compile against itself unabated for the past 5 days. Seemingly convinced that the grime was some sort of exotic bread-spread, she even managed to speak of it with a hint of longing in her voice.

A man with very few dreams and even fewer opportunities to realize them, Enma felt himself begin walking forward the moment he came to terms with this. The risk in his doing so was the same as it always was, but the reward was something that he couldn’t bring himself to pass up. Again planting himself between Tsunade and Shizune, he turned his gaze down towards the pair and smiled as cordially as his face would allow him.

Now was not the time for any further doubt.

“O-Oh, sorry about that, I nearly forgot.” he exhaled, nervously. “Please take as much as you’d like. There’s actually a dish here for everyone, so feel free to  _ use your fingers _ to scoop it out instead of one of the spoons. A-Apparently, that’s how it is supposed to be applied as well.”

Utterly convinced of Enma’s words, Tsunade produced and indifferent nod, then turned back towards her companions to rouse them in the same way she had their attendant.

“Well, girls, come get it while it’s hot! Shizune has had plenty of pizza, but I know you two have barely had a slice each. Once you do, we can all say that we’ve cleaned our plates!”

Like their de-facto leader, none of the other women saw anything wrong with a final taste test of one of Tadamiko’s delicacies. As Shizune leaned inwards, Tsume and Anko each collected a slice of pizza and stood from their seats to circle around the table to the spot where Enma stood. Each convinced that the drooling, bee-stung bloat of his unwashed glans was their own individual dish of spread, their huddle at this point saw each of them outstretch an index finger and lower the digit down towards the engorged knob of flesh at differing positions.

Here, they dug in. One at a time, they hooked the digit’s tip as if preparing to sample a decorative cream, then ruthlessly plunged it underneath a fraction of Enma’s foreskin. Immediately greeted by concentrated volumes of urine-infused cockfilth, their minds imagined the digit-section as sinking into a cutely arranged dish of paste to compensate for the happening. In reality, however, they each engaged in a short swirling of their fingertips around the flesh sleeve’s interior so as to collect a worthwhile volume of the substance atop it. Only once certain that the surface area of their fingers was utterly consumed by the ‘spread’ did they cease these circular motions and extract themselves from the rank sleeve to make use of the payloads they had collected.

The first to do so was Shizune. Caked atop the tip of her finger in several moist, inconsistently-spread layers was the delectable ‘spread’ that Tsunade’s nose had referenced. A vile paste composed of fermented dregs of semen stockpiled within Enma’s foreskin each time he stroked himself to orgasm, summer sweat thickened through mixture with the precum that bled from his length each time he was aroused, and a heady, eye-watering combination of urine and stray twines of pubic hair, the chiffon yellow substance was every bit as awful as the state of the phallus responsible for it. Scented to match spoilt semen as accented by air imbued with the stench of sex, and textured like any other moist paste ideal for spreading, its qualities constituted the definition of ‘waste’ no matter how one sought to adjust the words’ definition.

Tsunade and her friends were indifferent to these qualities. Collectively convinced that they had a delicious pizza additive wadded atop their fingers, the sight of it prompted each of them to produce the same basic behavior. Beginning with Shizune, they popped their clumps of cockfilth between their lips, and put their mouths to work in the consumption of it.

Subsequently, variance appeared amongst them. Unprompted, Tsume peeled her finger out of her mouth and began lashing her tongue against its fringes as a child enamoured with a lollipop. Challenged by the adhesiveness displayed by the substance and its irritation of the face of her tongue, Anko began scrubbing the tip of her finger against her gums whilst coiling the moist organ’s length about the region like a starved serpent. Modest to a fault, Shizune silently moistened the fetid dickcheese introduced into her mouth with spittle and picked away at its excess with the tip of her tongue.

Expectedly, Tsunade’s efforts were the most flagrant. Drawing the tip of her finger into a pressurized kiss with the mouth of her lips, she allowed the salivation welled within her mouth by the noxious flavor of Enma’s smegma to spill over her lower lip unencumbered. Throughout its flow, she vigorously fellated her fingertip in hopes of progressively smearing all of the noxious paste onto her tongue.

The differences in these ministrations belied a salient point of similarity between them. Not long after the initiation of these gestures, all four women successfully loosened the muck on their fingers into a drinkable slurry of pubes and cockfilth. Then came individual * **GLRSH** ♥ * of the substance down their throats, and a series of shrill coos biased between orgasmic pleasure and elation.

Though they themselves were ignorant to what they had consumed, their bodies proved incapable of turning a blind eye to the mixtures. In sequence, significant orgasms yoked from their loins by the ingestion of concentrated cockfilth momentarily locked their frames into short fits of blissful rapture. Made to squirm, coo, and cross their eyes in towards one another for seemingly no reason at all, all four of them descended into states unbecoming of their matronly appearances...

All under the watchful eye of the wielder of the infinite assjob/nakadashi/bukkake genjutsu.


	4. Physiotherapy, But All You do is Nut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Enma's single-handed degeneration of Tsunade's lunch date at his place of work, the restaurant of his employ places him on paid vacation until further notice. At last free to indulge himself in the sweaty, unwashed nothingness that all overweight degenerates dream about, his plans for consuming pornography and convenience store food are ruined by the arrival of two renowned medical-nin at his door.
> 
> At first under the assumption that he had escaped Tsunade's lunch date scot-free, his guests reveal that his actions then earned him a reward:
> 
> Several copiously saliva-drenched forms of outercourse with the fattest asses and tits Konohagakure has to offer, and a number of reeking orgasms at their expenses.

“God, fuck yes. No matter how many pages I look through, more content keeps getting posted. It’s like I’ve been away for years or something.”

“It’s a good thing that I decided to make that order when I did. If I saw all of this beforehand, I might’ve ended up just sitting here for another 6 hours instead of eating.”

“Paid vacation really is the best…”

While prone to fits of awkward silence whilst in the presence of others, the confines of Saburo Enma’s bedroom was one of very few locations wherein the man could be considered talkative. Several hours into yet another day of half-naked masturbation ahead of his computer, exhalations about his circumstance and applause for the content that he was consuming leapt from out of his throat with regularity. Each utterance energetic, and to a greater extent, invested, their coming from a portly man unbathed for several days and undaunted by the dishevelled greasiness his appearance made them sound far more perverse than they might have otherwise.

Unaware of this fact (and completely indifferent to it), Enma thought nothing of his outbursts save the catharsis that they welcomed into him on release. In the weeks that had passed since Tadamiko Ritsuko had placed him on paid leave from his job for what she described as a ‘necessary vacation’, the absence of things that he needed to do outside of his apartment had reintroduced him to the comforts of ‘peak degeneracy’.

Upon awakening each day, his only responsibilities were to himself. If he desired to seat himself ahead of his computer and indulge in pornography and entertainment for 10 hours straight, this was precisely what he did. If after one such 10-hour period he desired to put off showering for yet another day and order lunch/dinner for himself, he indulged himself with the rationale that his pay cheques from work ought to be used for leisure on occasion. Time for sleeping could be found somewhere amidst eating and masturbating, and, if absolutely necessary, the state of the outside world could be ascertained by an occasional peak behind the curtain drawn across his apartment’s balcony.

Well accustomed to living life as an unrepentant hedonist, his adoption of these simplifications were to him a reversion into the ‘norm’. Were it not for his genjutsu muddling his life and exposing him to one form of aggressive change after another, his daily life was likely to have remained similar to what it was presently.

Perhaps not exactly like it, but something close enough.

Being aware of this fact, Enma did not think very hard about what he was doing, either. Years immune to the stench of his frame and the degeneration of the condition of his apartment, he embraced the return of his ‘preferred’ existence without a single thought as to what might come afterwards.

For him, there was no ‘afterwards’—only another prolonged period of striving for the same degeneracy he was enjoying within the present.

Understandably, throwing himself headlong into such a lifestyle was not without consequence. Now nearly 30 days into his vacation, the regularity with which Enma checked his phone for calls or emails was reduced to coincidence with the periods wherein delivery notifications for his meals appeared across the device’s face. As well, the amount of effort that he put into presenting himself as ‘normal’ had taken a sharp nosedive. The infrequency of his showers notwithstanding, most everyday for him was a day spent with sweat and grease flattening the hair matted to his frame and a bloated erection fattening the fabric of his underwear. Consequentially, it was not uncommon for those unfortunate enough to visit his apartment to be met with an unsightly combination of sights and scents upon arrival at his door.

Incidentally, Enma’s current circumstance found him only minutes away from subjecting yet another unfortunate delivery person to this fate. Hunched over in near complete detachment from reality, the humming of his phone from underneath an emptied ramen container atop his desk produced a rattle loud enough to jolt him up and out of his seat.

Momentarily ignorant as to why his phone had received a notification, his re-immersion into the world around him saw him reach out to take up the device. With it in hand, he turned on his heel and began on a half-stride, half-waddle out of his bedroom.

“Oh yeah, the food.” he thought aloud. “That was kind of fast. I mean, I do order from this place pretty often, so maybe they’re just used to getting orders from me by now.”

Content to mumble to himself as he walked, Enma’s traversal of his apartment began and ended without incident. Despite escaping the intense humidity of his bedroom and stepping into an apartment whose rank, sex-scented air sat several weeks without circulation, he did not bat an eyelash.

To him, such noisome stuffiness was absolutely normal.

“I’m glad I didn’t start that movie, though. Now I’ll have something to eat before I watch.” he continued, grinning. “I should have enough for breakfast tomorrow afternoon as well. Unless I end up wanting dessert or something.”

“I wonder if it’d just be cheaper to go to the convenience store to get that instead…”

Up to and beyond his arrival opposite his front door, Enma continued speaking to himself as though doing so was not suggestive. Thus far, none of his couriers had called him out on his behavior; the sight of his apartment and the concentrated musk that hung over him usually made it too difficult for them to do anything but drop off their deliveries and depart as quickly and respectfully as possible.

Left without motivation to do otherwise, Enma’s focus remained on the internal conversation he had started with himself well after he began peeling open the face of his front door.

“Anything I could order I could get at the store, but that involves leaving the apartment.” he added. “It’d only be a couple minutes, but just staying in and spending a few extra bucks wouldn’t hurt. Oh, but then I’d have to postpone the movie, right? That’s no good.”

With the receipt of his delivery, Enma turned and began on his way back towards his bedroom. Weighing his options for the remainder of his evening all throughout, the absence of a bag of food within his dominant hand did not become apparent to him until a point shortly after his return to the confines of his bedroom.

Several steps into its depths, the door to the room was closed behind him. Having left it ajar in anticipation of a potential second departure, this noise wrenched him from his latest waking daydream with a force sufficient to rotate his frame back towards its source.

There, standing directly ahead of his door, was the ‘delivery’ that he had received: Senjuu Tsunade, and Shizune just slightly behind her. Both slightly off-put by the conditions within the bedroom that they had stepped into (the latter more so than the former), Enma’s shift towards them proved the final straw in their silent accompaniment of his ingress.

At this, Tsunade rolled her eyes, and smiled behind a weary exhalation.

“Not a lot changes with you, huh? Same spaciness, same stinking living space.” she scoffed, teasingly. “Living like this, working at a restaurant must be a pain. If I know Tadamiko, she probably makes you scrub your skin half off before you even walk into the place.”

“Then again, I guess it’s a small price to pay for good help, right?”

Far less willing to ‘accept and forget’ relative to the woman that she served, Shizune shook her head at Tsunade’s suggestion despite it not being directed at her. Stepping forward, she turned her head towards the blonde with peach-flushed frustration spread out across her face.

“T-This isn’t something you should be joking about, Tsunade-sama. It’s hotter in here than it was outside and it stinks of sweat so badly that it’s all I can smell!” she complained. “It’s sour enough that we’re both going to start feeling…well…sick the longer we stay here. Can we please just do what we came here for and leave?”

Reminded of the conditions surrounding them, the next breath of air that Tsunade took projected a wave of heat from the face of her forehead down to the tips of her toes. Behind it, the sweat pushed through her pores whilst following Enma into his bedroom was complimented by a fresh outflow of the substance, and the same pink hue that colored the midsection of Shizune’s face appeared at her own.

Though far more accustomed to inhaling cockstink (even whilst unaware that this was what she was doing), the stench’s quality reminded her that time was of the essence where Enma was concerned. This in mind, she adjusted the smile that she was projecting into a playful grin, and resumed her ingress towards the stunned man ahead of them.

As she walked, she spoked.

“Well, you heard her. It does smell a bit more…sweaty compared to the last time I was here, so you really should think about getting outside on your days off. Or even opening a window.” she began, simply. “Anyway, I’m sure you’re wondering why we’re here. The thing is, I was thinking about that meal that we had at Tadamiko’s a few weeks ago and how big of a part you were in it. Since I had some free time, I…”

As it was presently, Enma’s mind could only stand a certain amount of rationalization. After a half minute or so of shocked silence, his circumstance’s similarity to numerous other events imposed upon him within the preceding months saw him adopt a selective deafness that favored adherence to his thoughts over words spoken to him.

_“It’s happening again. It’s just Tsunade and Shizune this time.”_

_“Maybe I should be listening to Tsunade’s explanation. They’re here, and they’re not going to leave unless I play along properly.”_

_“Whatever. I think I’ll be able to manage either way. Looking at them, this’ll be way more satisfying than just jerking off at least…”_

Whilst ruminating on these thoughts, his body adhered to quiet directives handed down to it by their contents. On occasion, his skull was drawn into a short nod of agreement so as to assure his new guests that he was paying attention to their presences. Throughout these nods and every second that he spent engaged in something other than their production, his eyes drank in the masturbatory fuel constituted by the female frames set ahead of him.

Initially, Tsunade and Shizune’s bodies reminded him of those maintained by the Hyuuga siblings. Viewed from the front, both women owned mouth-wateringly succulent breasts engorged with flesh to the point at which a great deal of their torsos were obscured by the mass of the mound sets. Whereas Tsunade appeared to be in ownership of a sweat-glazed J-cup, Shizune complimented the bloat of these pale orbs with a set of G-cups owning a much more typical complexion.

For Enma, what he observed in their breasts were not so much estimations as they were ascriptions. Throughout Tsunade’s address, the gestures and posturing embedded in her explanation drew her attendant into her own set of exasperated adjustments. As a result, both women regularly forced the obese flesh sacs hung from their chests to bounce and jiggle in a manner both telling and obscene. This, as combined with the fact that the only clothing that either woman wore above the waist consisted of the string and fabric-patches of a miniaturized bikini top (a moss green for Tsunade and a navy blue for Shizune), left very little about their cup sizes to the imagination. Given the extent to which the strings maintaining these patches sunk into the fat of their cleavage prior to wrapping around their necks and the span of the bubblegum-pink knobs of nipple flesh that tented the patches themselves, defining them was no more difficult for him than staring and thinking.

Impressively, Enma’s eyes managed to make these ascriptions only moments before their attentions were completely consumed by the mass and curvature installed within the lower half of his guests’ frames.

Again, the Hyuuga siblings came to mind. Flared away from relatively chub-padded midsections were hips whose width rivaled the scale of their breasts without defying the underlined composition of their frames. In Tsunade’s case, the fat gilding her curvature softened its obscene indentation into something to be expected of an ‘active yet aged’ kunoichi. Shizune, though far slenderer by comparison—a fact that also left her hips as being the narrowest of the two—compensated for this absence of width and padding with a sharper, more hourglass-esque presentation of curvature. Specifics aside, the lower bodies of both women still owned more than twice the width of their torsos.

And rightly so. Extending down from these hips were buttocks and thighs whose wobbling bloat exceeded that of their breasts by leaps and bounds. Left all but entirely naked by their choice of attire, the doughy beach balls of flesh jiggled vibrantly in response to even the slightest shift of their frames, and consumed their bikinis’ fabric such that only the string securing the garments to their hips was left visible to the naked eye.

Expectedly, Tsunade’s presented the most excess. Some part of the blonde’s address led her to begin walking from her position at Shizune’s side to one seated at the edge of Enma’s bed. Throughout this walk, the monstrous peach-halves behind her were presented as just slightly larger than the beach balls Enma had imagined prior. If only slightly, the arrant wobbling that consumed them whenever Tsunade spoke made him imagine boulders of flesh and fat that had somehow managed to take on a life of their own.

Shizune’s, however, proved to be the exact definition of beach balls. Ever the dutiful attendant, Tsunade’s moving over to his bed saw her begin progressing towards the destination as well. Albeit in a far stuffier, unenthused manner, Enma was nonetheless provided with an opportunity to digest the true nature of her ass as well.

When both women seated themselves, the marked decrease in the ‘visual content’ their bodies presented proved jarring enough to remind Enma of his sense of hearing.

Coincidentally, his ears’ return to form came at the best moment it possibly could have...given the circumstance.

“…And that’s the gist of it. Shizune and I are going to spend a few hours treating the muscles of your lower body like I did for you before. We’ll be working together a lot here and there, so unlike before, you can expect this to take a while.” chirped Tsunade.

“But that’s fine, isn’t it? With how much you liked what I did, treatment from the both of us should be something pretty special for you, huh ♥?”

Having missed a large part of Tsunade’s explanation, Enma’s processing of her latest utterance essentially handcuffed him. Made to reminisce about Tsunade’s impromptu visit to his apartment, his frame selected a response for him before his stupor took hold in its entirety.

Wordless and simple, he approached his bed as a man too ‘fatigued’ to remain on his feet for a second longer.

-

**BELIEF IN FORM**

Enma’s decision to lay himself flat across his mattress without first asking what would become of him upon doing so was one that the portly male came to regret. What he felt was not the ‘regret’ that accompanied failure to avoid an act with potentially damning repercussions, but the sort associated with accepting a reward only to find that further patience or prudence might’ve yielded something far better.

More succinctly, Enma’s bedding himself as he had denied him the opportunity to make proper use of Tsunade’s and Shizune’s ingress atop his frame. Had he known that Tsunade intended to plant her crotch on his stomach and mush the wobbling fat of her asscheeks into a threatening compression/near-envelopment of his chest and skull, the position he’d have chosen atop his mattress would have been one that allowed him to nuzzle his face and skull into its sweat-moistened meat more proactively. Similarly, had he known that Shizune intended to take up a position that set her knees to either side of his thighs and mushed the bloat of her breasts up against the imposing pipe of cockflesh coiled up within his underwear, setting his torso further upright (more so than the 30 degree bend facilitated by his forearms’ contact with his mattress) beforehand would have allowed for him to ‘receive’ her efforts far more effectively.

Denied such opportunities by his own inaction, laying back and accepting their ministrations as they were applied was all that remained for him. Intimately familiar with the grease and fat infused into his frame, Tsunade pushed a great deal of her assfat against Enma’s face so as to lean her torso down towards his midsection. Stopping her descent well short of contact with the majority of his gut’s bloat, her arrival at a 30-degree bend was followed by a descent of her palms down into the lower fringes of his obliques. Despite being denied a direct view of the flesh she had touched by the span of her breasts, medical training burned into the sinews of her musculature allowed her to turn this contact into the delivery of a circularly-oriented massage of her ‘patient’s’ torso. Utterly convinced that her efforts were non-sexual and rehabilitative in nature, she ignored the sweat that was smeared against the exterior of her palms and happily devoted herself to compressing the undersides of her fingers into the fat and muscle tissue at Enma’s sides.

Unbeknownst to her, this was not the only massage that her frame applied to his. Right as her palms made contact with Enma’s chest, a twinge of desire within her hips tempted them into the production of short bounces against Enma’s face and chest. Slight, and also devoid of backing by more of her body weight than was necessary, the subconscious twerking of her rear further swallowed his lips and cheeks between her buttocks whilst quietly feeding her musk-saturated libido a much needed form of catharsis.

As if to match the effort put out by her superior, Shizune applied borderline mechanical focus to the ministrations that she applied. Initially swallowing down feelings crossed between arousal and disgust, she used her upright position beneath Enma’s crotch to set her hands into contact with the fringes of his underwear. Once placed, she snaked the index and middle fingers of both of her hands underneath its waistline, and finally peeled the semen-scented, sweat-soaked garment down along his thighs until its entirety was left spread between them.

The moment the semi-erect bloat of his cock flopped out into her line of sight, her hands were magnetized to it. Internally, the snapping of her left palm into an envelopment of its foreskin-clad glans and her right’s snug bracing of its grossly-vascular midsection (or as much of it as her modest palm-span could swallow) was perceived by her as the delivery of a spirited ‘greeting’ to Enma’s frame. However much his greasy frame disturbed her and however much the blood vessels of his…crotch might squirm and pulse in response to her grasp, her mind could think of no better means of assuring Enma that her technique would satisfy him.

In reality, Shizune’s mind was already far too intoxicated on the sexual reek billowing from his crotch for her to stomach anything less than adoration from him. Upon entering his apartment, the stale haze of sweat and semen that clung to the air that it contained had primed her feminine organs with a concentration of hormone too severe for them to manage with inactivity. All at once, syrup-dense lubrication began oozing from out of her folds, and a mild light-headedness induced by the increased temperature within her uterus assaulted her. When presented with the source of these stenches and the man to which they belonged, her frame pledged itself to his satisfaction then and there. No matter the effort required of it, Shizune’s frame intended to apply itself until a balmy load of pungent semen was reeled out of Enma’s cock.

Whilst dominated by such a mindset, a certain amount of proactivity was to be expected. After taking hold of his cock with both hands and pulling its still-fattening bulk up and out of contact with the underside of his taut gut, Shizune solidified her hands’ position by drawing them into contact with one another. Pushing her left hand down into a perfect envelopment of his glans, then raising her right along his vascular flesh spire until its thumb and index finger bumped up against her left palm, contact between her appendages left an impressive 5 inch stretch of his shaft completely consumed by her hands.

Afterwards, she began to make use of this consumption. Disregarding the cloudy spurt of precum blasted out onto the fringe of her left hand’s vice as an increase in perspiration from Enma’s crotch, she depressed both of the phallus-milking vices down along his shaft in sequence. Increasing the pressure applied by her palms just slightly throughout their descent, she pressed the limbs as far down as 3/4ths of the way along his length before dragging them back up to their initial positions with a timed flick of both of her wrists. By maintaining the pressure application imposed throughout her ascent, her left palm’s return to compressing the bloat of Enma’s glans acquired complementation by the discharge of a near-gelatinous wad of precum into the core of her palm vice.

Like her superior, Shizune was far too adept at her craft to let an ‘excess of perspiration’ stop her. Taking the gooey substance’s smearing to her palm in stride, she reproduced the downward plunge she had started with well before the substance’s discharge came to an end. Now backed by enough pressure to peel the foreskin flesh bundled up against his glans’ midsection down alongside her left palm, this stroke completed the exposure of his cock’s most sensitive inches whilst at the same time exposing her senses to the mind-rotting stench of the filth-paste caked underneath it.

Born from these things was a pumping of her palms that sprinted where it ought have jogged. Visage consumed by a mixture of disgust and sweaty, unbridled lust, Shizune vigorously pressed her palms up and down along the majority of Enma’s cock as though she had been born for the task. From her second descent onward, the depression of her vice-orifice carried a heady glaze of wadded precum down along his phallus’ exterior alongside it, and in doing so, increased the speed at which the next could be completed. Complimentarily—if only in cases wherein the glutting of her palms with sexual filth could be considered a means to an end—every upward grind of her palms yoked sizeable blurts of murky precum into her left palm whilst her fingers were progressively caked with chunks of smegma left to bake underneath his foreskin. Loosened by the continual application of precum across their expanses, the continued squeezing of feminine flesh across them resulted into muddy chunks of the substance adding to the mess plastered to her skin.

Effortless as her ministrations appeared, producing them sent regular throbs of stimulation rippling from Shizune’s midsection down to the mouth of her cunt. Her beliefs as to what she was doing had not wavered (this evident in the focus and discomfort visible on her face), yet listening to the repeated *GLPT-GLPT-GLPT* produced as her precum-drenched palms smothered Enma’s meat was somehow no less arousing for her. Whereas her mind framed this arousal as her finding perversion in something that did not actually contain it (this being her massaging of Enma’s crotch), her body remained all-too aware of its true cause. Even if she refused to accept it, the ‘simple’ act of milking Enma’s cock with her palms had reduced the crotch of her bikini to a syrup-plastered mess of low hanging lubrication strands and slime sodden fabric.

Fundamentally annoyed with her own perversion, her conscious mind sought assurance that she was not feeding arousal into herself in vain. Parting her lips, she abruptly subverted the sexual noise that sounded out from her suitor’s crotch with an inquiry.

“H-Hey, you should be at least feeling slightly better by now, right?” speaking out in a voice hurried by annoyance, hints of the lust that had invaded her frame remained audible in her words provided one’s ears were trained well enough to catch it. “There’s so much **grease** on your body that my hands are getting completely covered with it. I-It’s honestly getting in the way of me doing my job.”

“Regardless, I’ve been at this for several minutes now. If you’re not feeling some kind of difference, I might as well just stop and move on to your legs or something right?”

Comically, the actions that Shizune produced whilst speaking contradicted the discomfort she was projecting to the point of irrelevance. Amidst her complaints about the greasiness of her palms, her eyes sat trained on the very tip of Enma’s glans. Both hollowed by an amazed arousal, the upward portion of each stroke intensified their observation of the precum drawn up to a slurred burble from the nose of his glans.

Seemingly desperate to lay eyes on the glue-like substance more often, the pace of her strokes sharpened just as she finished with her initial set of complaints.

“L-Look, I know you can’t exactly talk right now with how nice Tsunade-sama’s massage must feel. It’s normal, but not very respectful.” she continued, tone of voice now slightly milder than before. “That said, give me _something_. Just let me know that I’m not stirring my hands in such a chunky **, squirmy slop** for nothing, alright?”

More so than anything else, these words were a plea from Shizune’s frame for Enma to spill his cum all over both of her hands. Her interest in whether or not he was enjoying himself was genuine, but not nearly as genuine as she believed it to be.

Fortunately, her circumstance was one wherein the actual ‘root’ of her request was irrelevant. Smothered by Tsunade’s ass just deeply enough to enjoy himself without a loss of oxygen, Enma’s ears picked up her request exactly as it was produced. In response, he raised his right hand up to a height that Shizune was likely to see, and presented a ‘thumbs up’ to assuage her concerns.

Seeing this, Shizune refocused herself without another word of complaint.

If a simple and whorish conclusion to her inquiry, what occurred was largely for the best. When addressed by her, Enma’s mental state had already endured several minutes of euphoric debilitation. Thus, if presented with a question more complex than ‘do you like this?’, his answer was likely to have been one of ‘yes’ or nothing at all.

Needless to say, he remained stress-free in spite of this. Owed to the aggressive quality of Shizune’s handjob and his underlined infatuation with Tsunade’s ass, most all of the time that he had spent with the women doting on his frame was time that he had spent pouring bliss’ drool into the crease between Tsunade’s asscheeks.

From their size to the softness of their flesh, the wobbling boulders met, and wholly exceeded his definition of ‘mouth-watering’. Several weeks prior, their presentation squeezed into the backside of Tsunade’s ¾ pants had tempted him into several seconds of the same activity he was engaged in now. Presently freed from the demands of employment and the tenuous scenario his genjutsu had created within the restaurant, slobbering over it to his heart's content became his default behavior the moment that it became apparent that Tsunade would not be moving her rear very far out of its initial position.

For as little a difference as it made in the grand scheme of his treatment, this concentrated outflow of drool ushered in a certain amount of ‘change’ to Enma’s nuzzle against Tsunade’s rear. As his mouth was smothered against her rear as opposed to set directly above it, the drainage of clear spittle from between his lips filled in the space between her buttocks in a manner different from what he had managed within Tadamiko’s restaurant. Second by second, a sizeable stream of the substance dribbled from his lips down across a hook-shaped descent towards the crevice’s base. Specifically, after leaving Enma’s mouth, what saliva he produced trickled in towards the core of her buttocks compression before gravity and the compactness of the crevice itself carried it through a slow, resin-like descent between her cheeks’ embrace.

Initially, this pattern was as harmless as one would rightly presume it to be. While abnormally thick, the volume of saliva that Enma was capable of draining between Tsunade’s cheeks was nowhere near the level of excess required to utterly cake the inner sides of her asscheeks with the substance. The compilation of resin rivulets did eventually acquire a bulk sufficient to push out against the assflesh surrounding them, but ultimately, the substance’s descent towards consumption of the lower 70% of her crevice’s length remained as sluggish and ineffective as it had been before.

The passage of time changed this. Perhaps as a result of Enma’s hunger, but more likely as a result of the world-altering ninja art that dominated his life, the volume of spittle that left his mouth progressively increased up to an extent that mimicked his cock’s overproduction of semen. With time, the crevice-basting that he had managed in a full minute of his natural output was completed within seconds. Further, as every drop of saliva his mouth parted with maintained the same dense quality as the amounts he had released previously, its compilation against itself soon resulted in the ‘clog’ formed within the lower 70% of her crease’s length rising up towards its peak. Whilst a larger volume of the substance was pushed through an accelerated descent towards its base, a ‘thinner’ inundation of its interior rose as high as the peak of her buttocks’ gleaming cleavage.

It was at this point that Tsunade felt compelled to use her position overtop Enma’s frame for something more practical. Fed feelings and memories concerning what had happened to her ass by Enma’s genjutsu, their contents culminated in an impetus that her personality was unwilling to ignore.

Without warning, Tsunade stood from off of Enma’s frame and reached behind herself with both hands. This done, she pressed the full width of her palms into a paltry compression of her asscheeks, and subsequently descended from off of his mattress one foot at a time.

On her feet, she moved to take up a position dangerously close to where her mattress-set colleague sat atop Enma’s frame.

Here, she turned her back towards the bed-spread pair and spoke.

“Wow, look at this, Shizune. I was only massaging Enma for a few minutes, but he somehow managed to completely glaze my ass in **that massage oil** we brought over.” started Tsunade. “Do you mind if we trade spots for a bit? If I don’t keep holding my cheeks like this, everything he poured in there is going to end up going to waste. It looks like you’ve already done most of the work so far, so this’d probably be a good chance for you to take a break, too.”

Much like Enma’s gesture minutes prior, these words drew immediate action from Shizune. Even whilst invested in the sexual satiation of a man her body couldn’t resist, verbal directives from Tsunade remained the foremost priority for her existence. At her beckoning, she progressively slowed her handjob and begrudgingly dragged her line of sight over towards the squishy excess of her superior’s rear.

As indicated, a clear, jellied lubricant could be seen smeared across the face of her buttocks’ shared crease whilst thick arcs of the substance oozed down from out of the underside of both cheeks. Though neither one of the massive orbs were literally glazed with the substance, Shizune did not see their state as something worth questioning.

Within another second or so of staring, what her eyes saw became the very thing that Tsunade had described.

Knowing far better than to question her judgement, Shizune took this as her signal to move aside. After peeling her palms out of contact with his cock (this act resulting in dense webs of precum extending between the surface of her palms and the meat of his length, she wiggled out of her position straddling his legs into another just off to the left of his sprawl across the mattress.

Robbed of a significant source of sexual pleasure as a result of her move, arrival here saw Shizune raise her right palm up to a position just short of contact with her lips. Recalling something more important than the gesture after the fact, her eyes next found Tsunade’s face in the midst of her own approach.

“S-Sure, it’s fine. Like I said, the sooner we get this over with, the better.” she replied. “We did put aside time for this, but your schedule isn’t totally empty, Tsunade-sama. T-Try not to waste too much time, okay?”

The moment these words tumbled out of Shizune’s lips, she slapped the face of her filth-gunked palm into flat contact with her lips and nostrils. Busily slurping and snorting against its exterior after the fact (as opposed to listening for Tsunade’s answer to her request), neither the tantalizing squat that the blonde assumed opposite Enma’s member nor the perverse grin that she directed back at the drooling male garnered much attention from her.

To a point, her negligence was a shame. With the space Shizune provided, Tsunade moved into a contact-less squat directly above Enma’s crotch. Feet planted flat adjacent to his knee caps and rear levelled such that the dead center of her buttocks’ underside (and the sheets of saliva that drooled out from between them) was set above the mess made of his glans, the sight of her frame became something to behold after only a few seconds of motion.

Far too experienced with the depravity displayed by the women subjected to his genjutsu, Tsunade’s transition into this position focused Enma’s bleary vision towards her rear the moment her transition came to an end.

As a result, his eyes were treated to the sight of her face and frame as she stated her intent.

“This particular technique requires flesh that’s a bit softer, so don’t take this the wrong way, alright?” Tsunade warned. “If all goes as planned, you’ll be finished in no time. Just sit back and try to enjoy yourself ♥.”

Without any sort of allusion as to what might be coming, Tsunade punctuated her final word with a voracious dumping of her assflesh down across the pre-greased girth of Enma’s cock. Descending down from her squat into a thigh-parted seat atop his crotch throughout, she allowed the full mass of her frame—rather, the full mass of her saliva-clogged rear—to consume his cock from tip to root. Pressed through a prison of flesh and congealed saliva whose length fell just short of its entirety, his glans gluey breach from the peak of her buttocks’ cleavage came only after the flesh and veins of his cock-trunk were ground through a canal of doughy flesh and lubrication on par with a female orifice.

In the face of her cheeks’ gooey consumption of his cock, Enma had never stood a chance. Throughout Shizune’s handjob and Tsunade’s adoration of his frame, a volume of semen fatter than anything he had managed to work into himself throughout his paid vacation had welled up to a state of painful prevalence with the root of his crotch. On subjection to the most vivid and multi-faceted form of stimulation he had enjoyed yet, the writhing nut within him demanded immediate release from his balls out onto (and into) Tsunade’s ass.

When finally she completed her rear’s descent into contact with his crotch, his frame gave up entirely. As soon as jiggling ass fat was compressed against the gnarled pubic hair at his crotch, a fraction of his internal payload exploded up from the tip of his cock in the form of a top heavy dollop-strand of yellowed cockjuice.

Such was the volume of semen packed into this strand that the exceptional amount of pressure backing its ascent failed to make a considerable impact on the heights that it reached. After a modest leap from Enma’s cocktip, its entirety arced downwards into a messy splatter against Tsunade’s buttocks. Delivered right across the beginnings of the slope that lead down the wobbling peach’s face (below the peak of her ass’ cleavage but not quite against the wealth of flesh that swelled outward past this point), its quality as a discolored sludge infused with bulbous reproductive curd became apparent right as it made contact with her skin. Despite said contents being spread at a position that would have caused any normal fluid to run or drizzle, every chunked drop of the substance clung to her buttocks’ flesh like a semi-solid adhesive. Time did see its contents ooze towards more significant coverage of her rear, but relative to what ought to have occurred, this by itself was negligible.

Straight behind the delivery of this first strand, another just like it erupted from Enma’s glans into contact with Tsunade’s rear. Multiple discharges of semen were to be expected of any significant orgasm, but this burst enjoyed supplementation by the ministration set that Tsunade had intended to impose by seating herself in the first place.

Unlike Enma, she remained free from debilitation by the numbing bliss of an orgasm. Having trapped his erection between the meat of her cheeks, the strenuous sluggishness of his seed’s ascent through his urethra was perceived by her with the same clarity of his cock’s throbbing within the prison of flesh and goo she had created. If she did not contribute, his release would take far longer than Shizune was willing to tolerate.

Thus, she applied herself. On perception of Enma’s clotted seed colliding with a fraction of her rear, Tsunade pressed both of her palms down into the mattress surface ahead of her, dipped her torso forward, and finally utilized the angling of her frame to begin driving her rear upwards and outwards. Grinding her buttocks’ spittle-glutted embrace from a perfect compression of Enma’s flesh trunk through to a concentrated grind up along several of its inches, she did not halt her ascent until his 4th and 5th spurts of seed were blurted out directly into the ‘core’ of her buttocks’ squishy crevice.

Easy as it would have been to hold herself here and provide Enma with a ‘hole’ he could dump the majority of his orgasm into, stillness was not a part of Tsunade’s plan. Motivated by the warmth and weight of the plaster-dollops threaded out of his cock prior to her ascent’s completion (specifically the crevice-gunking smears that they plastered to her buttock’s exterior), the end of her predefined stroke saw her re-engulf the inches of cockflesh freed by her ascent via a short-ranged ‘dropping’ of her ass fat back into contact with his crotch. Through this, the congested *BLORTS* produced as chunked semen was blasted against the pre-filled core of her makeshift orifice were progressively quieted prior to complete replacement by the sound of dense semen colliding with the flesh of her buttocks’ face. Behind the second, mess-sodden breach of his glans from her cheeks’ peak, these noises were produced with the same guttural regularity as those that had preceded them.

And then they weren’t. Now familiar with the sensations that could be garnered from both halves of her bounces, Tsunade followed up her second hilting of Enma’s cock with a vigorous oscillation between these two states. Licking her lips right as she began on this effort, she again drove the mass of her rear upwards, then plunged it downwards. Moving back and forth between these motion sets as though she were genuinely fucking herself on Enma’s length, she soon found herself displaying the same feverish energy that had defined Shizune’s handjob minutes prior.

Ignorant to the fact that her ministrations were compressing fatter volumes of semen up through Enma’s cock at a far faster rate than was ‘normal’, Tsunade’s production of these ministrations lasted up until his final glob of semen found a home smeared against the mildly-semen caked peak of her buttocks’ crease. At this, her perception of what was occurring suggested that the investment of further effort into her ‘massage’ wouldn’t serve much of a purpose.

Enma, though uncertain as to why Tsunade had stopped bouncing, welcomed her pause with open arms. Having been made to believe that his cock had been consumed within a bottomless sleeve of sentient, phallus-hungry flesh by her first descent, the milking that followed further submerged his mind into a euphoria that grated at his tolerance for stimulation for each second he was subjected to it. By virtue of the spittle he had drained between her cheeks and their own obscene weight, globs of cum that should have persisted within his urethra prior to pressurized bursts from his cocktip were sucked through it as water through a straw. This sensation—one of molten glut scalding his urethra prior to his cock’s consumption between a pair of monstrous flesh pillows hell-bent on smothering his cock—was one liable to completely ruin his mind given enough exposure to it.

Having recognized this very early on into his release, protesting about Tsunade’s stoppage was his very last thought when reprieve came to him. Opting to prioritize a focused observation of his surroundings and further preparation for whatever might come next, the ebbing of his orgasmic euphoria saw him squeeze his eyes shut several times in an attempt at righting his blurred psyche once and for all.

Strictly speaking, Enma’s committing himself this way was the best decision that he could have made. Regrettably, his state then and there was not so clairvoyant as to consider the entirety of his circumstance.

Had it been, he likely would have thought to peel his erection out of Tsunade’s flesh prison before attempting anything else.

“Hehe ♥. I guess you really liked that technique, huh? I’d say **go easy on the massage oil** , but if it helps you enjoy things a little bit more, you can let out as much as you’d like.” speaking out in a voice unaffected by the lust ignited within her stomach, Tsunade addressed Enma whilst at the same time presenting her understanding of the assjob she had applied to his cock.

“I’m still feeling a lot of tightness built up around your groin, so I guess I didn’t get deep enough with my first pass. It’s strange; I’ve dealt with restaurant workers before, but most of them don’t carry this kind of tension inside them.” she continued. “What do you think, Shizune? Have we ever dealt with someone who manages to dump out this much oil without ending up satisfied in the end?”

Called upon, a more focused Shizune shook her head in certain disconfirmation.

“No, I’d remember if we had.” she replied. “I did think that Enma’s body was a little strange when I first touched it, but I couldn’t really put my finger on how.”

“That said, I don’t think your efforts had anything to do with it, Tsunade-sama. If I had tried a bit harder, you’d have probably been able to finish everything by yourself.”

Long since finished sucking smears of smegma off of her hands and replacing the precum matted to her fingers with saliva, Tsunade’s address found Shizune prepared to produce a prompt response. Though a single fleck of gnarled pubic hair had ended up glued to the right corner of her mouth as a result, its presence did not appear to affect her confidence in the words that she produced.

Seeing this, Tsunade’s confidence in a successful end to their house swelled larger still.

“Come on, don’t be so modest. We both did fine; this guy’s just too hard of a worker for his own good.” she chuckled. “Here, let me start again. Be ready to jump in when I’m finished, okay?”

As soon as she produced this utterance, Tsunade finally initiated the extraction of Enma’s cock from her asscheeks’ embrace. Reaching behind herself with her left hand, she impressed the face of her palm into her left cheek for a second time. With a fraction of its fat maintained within her grasp, she next moved into a deft hop to her feet, and finally stood upright so as to grind Enma’s length through her slimy crevice’s embrace one final time. Stuttered at several intervals by her cheeks’ mild adhesion to his cockflesh by a combination of semen and spittle, her return to an upright standing position was punctuated by the release of a muddy backdraft of the substances out of the underside of her cheeks.

Paying no mind to the substance’s splattering down onto Enma’s still erect length, Tsunade continued moving without a care in the world. On her feet, she turned around to direct her line of sight straight down at Enma, then descended down to another position directly behind his cock’s sex-greased underside.

Here, she made a show of herself. Settled flat across his lower body, she raised both of her hands up into contact with the outer sides of both of her breasts. If stupidly massive relative to any other pair of ‘large’ breasts, their scale remained well within her grasps’ capacity for management. First collecting handfuls of their fat within her palms, she afterwards peeled the obese squash-sacs out of contact with one another. With their inner sides exposed, she inched herself in towards the root of Enma’s cock until the spire’s lubricant-caked girth was surrounded on all sides by breast flesh.

Then, she sandwiched it. Pressing both of her palms flat against the flesh of her breasts at the same time whilst generating force with her arms, she aggressively compressed the meat of Enma’s cock within another prison of soft, cock-flattening flesh.

This time, however, her control over this prison was far more direct. With her buttocks, Tsunade had relied on the crevice’s basting with saliva and her hips’ ability to manipulate its flesh to see her ministrations delivered. Considering the size of her rear and the position at which she made use of it, this represented the best effort that she could have produced.

With both of her palms sunk into the meat of her breasts as skulls into massively oversized pillows, defter manipulations became available to her. As soon as the sexual grease lathering the flesh of Enma’s cock was depressed into her bust—a welcomed addition to the smearing the underside of her mounds received by the exterior of his crotch—Tsunade engaged her wrists and forearms in the beginnings of a garroting knead of her breasts along its exterior.

Right from their initiation, the effectiveness that her ministrations would maintain was obvious. After balling both of her hands into loosely drawn fists, Tsunade depressed the joints of her fingers into her breast flesh such that the meat most immediate to them actually appeared depressed. Having settled her hands at a height inches below the exposed crown of Enma’s cock (at her breasts), this gesture resulted in several sluggish blurts of semen-infused precum bubbling out of the tip of his cock. From this, one could infer that her joints’ impression into her breasts had managed to smother the meat of his shaft with a ‘tightness’ comparable to what the depths of her cunt or asshole might’ve managed on their own.

Unsurprised by her successes, this event catalysed further action from her. Applying her depressed fists as a pair of hoists for her impossibly-bloated mounds, an upward flick of her wrists consumed the precum that Enma’s length had spat out alongside the entirety of his glans. Backed by contractions within her forearms, the gesture mashed a potent depressive force from the ‘65%’ mark of his phallus’ height up to a gooey consumption of his glans entirely. At its end, only a trio of inches measuring up from Enma’s crotch were abandoned by her breasts mass, and the oft forgotten stretches of blood-vessel-infused cockmeat below his shaft’s midsection were treated to a moderated iteration of the draining pleasure applied to his glans.

Needless to say, Tsunade’s prowess with her breasts exceeded what she had managed with her rear by default. Straight after dragging another series of precum discharges out into the depths of her titcunt, she effortlessly depressed her breasts along the same stretch of inches that her elevation had consumed. Aided in this instance by a marked increase in the volume of cloudy lubrication smeared between the inner sides of her breasts, Enma’s glans’ reappearance from the peak of her breasts produced an especially sloppy *PLORP!* as a result of a fraction of the mire escaping alongside it.

To Tsunade, the creation of this noise served as proof that all was going to plan. From this point onward, her joints and musculature could be trusted to manage the heavy-lifting of her massage whilst she applied the majority of her focus elsewhere; ‘elsewhere’ in this case being a more active inquiry into Enma’s reception of her efforts.

Without a moment’s notice, the airy hunger that she had beamed at his breast-enveloped length of cockmeat was exchanged for the projection of a sly perversion straight up at his face.

“So, how am I doing so far? Better, or worse?” she asked, tone oozing with condescension. “You don’t have my ass in your face anymore, so the answer I’m looking for is kind of written all over your face. A girl still has to ask, though ♥.”

“Don’t worry, I’m still going to make sure that we work out all the tension. I just don’t want Shizune and I to finish up here only to have you start mumbling to yourself about how the experience could have been better.” she continued. “Not that you could, but…well, you know what I mean, right?”

Trying as his circumstance had become, Enma did understand Tsunade’s meaning. Albeit in different words, several other women within his life had posed her question in expectation of a similarly positive response. Their physical condition upon asking was typically quite a bit looser than her own, but all the same, the energy that they projected whilst asking was exactly the same.

As often proved to be the case when met with this question, the only response he was capable of producing in the moment was boorish confirmation. Without sitting any further upward or even focusing his gaze down at Tsunade’s face, a strained groan indicative of painful amounts of stimulation rumbled out of the back of his throat for several seconds. In time with it, more definitive proof of his stimulation was provided by serpentine wriggling in the veins mounted to the face of his shaft, and the frequency at which its drenched exterior spewed wads of precum both between, and across (by way of drainage down from the peak of her bust) her breasts.

Were managing speech whilst overcome by sexual stimulation one of Enma’s strong suits, specifics as to why his frame produced these responses may very well have trickled over his lips as well. After all, it was not as though his mind was utterly stagnant throughout his reception of Tsunade’s titjob. Throughout it, the pulverisation of his cock by the slime-gunked interior of a breast-orifice rendered tighter and hotter by the force generated by her fists trained his mind’s eye on the stimulation that rippled through his length and into his spine.

Whilst Tsunade’s breasts were drawn upward, a boiling urge was projected from the entirety of his glans down to the refilled reservoir of semen locked away within his balls. Akin to a hand’s yanking at a flimsy seal, each snowplough-esque compilation of sexual slop up along the exterior of his glans tempted his innards to worsen the mess with another expulsion of semen. Given that this same wadded muck was subsequently reapplied to the flesh of his cock throughout the descents that followed, the sensation’s quality came as no surprise to him.

Only the sensations evoked by the depression of Tsunade’s breasts owned this privilege. For each one that she managed, a flesh-based noose drawn taut enough to be both sensual and unbearable was depressed from the peak of his cock down to its midsection. Supplemented by the teasing embrace ground from the lower third of his shaft to its root, each moist *PLAP!* of titflesh against his sludge-sodden crotch sent a wave of comforting satisfaction up to contact with his brainstem. Yet to enjoy such stimulation from another pair of oversized breasts, his mind immediately classified her down strokes as ‘abnormalities’ that only the 5th Hokage was capable of producing.

Consumed by such conditions, Enma did not expect to last much longer between Tsunade’s breasts. This, too, existed on the list of things that he’d have liked to notify her of given the opportunity; though her perception of the event would not become any less fabricated as a result, providing a woman responsible for squeezing so much pleasure into his length with a ‘heads up’ was perceived by him as a common courtesy liable to do more good than harm.

Contrary to his beliefs on the subject, his tongue tied groaning did not rob his frame of all means of conveying this. With both of her breasts mushed up against the throbbing bloat of his erection and ears trained on both the frequency and intensity of the groans that escaped his maw, Tsunade’s position availed to her all of the information that she required for an insightful ‘massage’ of Enma’s frame.

In her line of work, the increased temperature of his groin’s musculature and the acceleration of its blood vessels’ throbbing underneath her breasts were signals that the ‘tension’ validating her treatment would soon evaporate. Predicting this end to be far closer than Enma’s stuttering implied, she responded to their exacerbation by improving the kneading metronome she had established into a realm that no other woman could match.

Superficially, her opinion of Enma dictated that he deserved this. In reality, though, her inhaling concentrated cockstink throughout her ministrations and her breast flesh’s subjection to the desperate writhing of his erection left her with no choice. If she did not satisfy her innards’ desire to drag a second load of semen out of Enma’s cock soon, putting any further effort into the act would become impossible for her.

Motivations aside, her understanding of how to best achieve this went unchanged. Tracking the fluttering and swelling of Enma’s erection right up to what she perceived to be the ‘point of no return’, she made certain that the semen-greased strokes she produced were made as sloppy and oppressive as possible throughout her latest sprint. Then, well before the vigorous clopping could bring proceedings to an end, she ceased her kneading entirely.

Utterly detached, she undid her hands’ compression of her breasts and dipped backwards whilst turning to address the woman positioned in wait at her side.

“Alright, you’re up, Shizune. Just do that little trick of yours and we should be done here ♥.”

Signalled, Shizune surged inward. Now without even a fraction of the repulsed disgust she had directed towards Enma earlier, she took up Tsunade’s initial position behind his length whilst a confident (and sex-addled) grin spread over her face.

It was not present for very long, however. Within the very same ingress, Shizune parted her lips directly in time with her skull’s arrival near the nose of Enma’s cock, then stabbed herself further inward to see its reeking bloat plugged firmly between her face’s saliva-greased pillows. Brandishing a talent equal parts whorish and awe inspiring, she completed her ingress with a serpentine depression of her lips along the sex-fattened exterior of Enma’s cock until both were nuzzled into a putrid kiss with the slop and pubes blended at the root of his crotch. Descending without a shudder, gag, or even a blink, she seamlessly fattened her throat alongside several inches of her esophagus with an erection only strokes away from eruption.

Evidently, this feat was not the ‘trick’ that Tsunade had mentioned, either. Once rooted—cheeks and nostrils compressed against Enma’s crotch whilst her eyes stared up at his face—Shizune wrenched her face up from its ball’s deep hilting of his member back into a whorish, lip-spreading suckle around his glans. Seemingly immune to the flavors of semen, precum, saliva, and sweat plugged into every pore of flesh spread out along the spire, her return to this position served as the ‘starting line’ for a sprint of ministrations that she had planned at Tsunade’s request. Following a second descent of her skull and a fleshy *SLRSH!* influenced by the lubrication-gunked bulk of the phallus she squeezed into her neck, she began spiking her face up and down the full length of his erection with a slovenly abandon.

No more thorough than she was perverse, the entirety of her pumping chain was exacerbated to create more pleasure for Enma. Believing herself to be performing a series of risqué nuzzles against the root of his crotch, she allowed the saliva and mucus churned up within her throat to drool from her lips and nostrils unencumbered. As well, whilst in the midst of depressing herself, she regularly contracted her esophagus in hopes of better massaging his pent meat with her flesh.

Up and down, up and down; her metronome continued without end. Forgetting both where she was and what she was doing, she devoted all of herself to messily milking semen from Enma’s balls without a thought as to her own comfort.

For her devotion, she earned a reward. Not a half minute into her feverish facefucking session, an upward spike of Enma’s crotch timed to coincide to the end of one of her depressions brought about the end that Tsunade had sought. Subsequently, a thumb width thread of the same discolored sludge that had painted the blonde’s rear erupted out towards an orifice-clogging spread along the lower reaches of her esophagus.

By virtue of her watching Enma’s first orgasm from start to finish, Shizune knew precisely what to expect from his balls when first chunked warmth began was introduced to the depths of her esophagus. If she remained with her lips pinned to the root of his cock, the volume of his orgasm would she her stomach coated, fattened, and eventually swelled with semen. Upon being taxed past its natural capacity—presuming Enma still carried such a ludicrous volume of cum within him—the continued spurting of the substance within her would force a considerable volume of it up through her cock-spread esophagus out of her mouth. From this would be born a chain of filling and regurgitation whose end would be dependent on exactly how much stinking nut Tsunade had managed to well within his crotch.

If pleasant, such an end to proceedings was hardly appropriate for a pair of professionals. Worse still, her vomiting out the seed of such an ample suitor was not something that her mind could justify as ‘appropriate’.

This in mind, she acted to ensure that the chain of events she had envisioned did not come about. After entertaining the discharge of several heated curd-chains against the inner lining of her esophagus, Shizune swallowed against Enma’s mast, and recommitted herself to the vigorous facefucking that had pushed him to release in the first place. Reeling her skull upwards, then plunging it straight back down from whence it came, the pace of this oscillation bled into a perfect reproduction of lip-spread phallus-milking that had pushed her to this point.

Early on, however, change appeared. Whilst digestive *BLORTS* and *GLRSH*(s) sounded out from her face and neck, Shizune’s pumping pace began to slow. The energy that she invested in keeping the reddened face of her neck ballooned with cockflesh hadn’t diminished in the slightest; something entirely separate from it had simply rendered this energy as less effective.

Beset by heavy outflows of cockjuice from both her nostrils and the edges of her mouth, a certain amount of ‘slowing’ was to be expected. By regularly swallowing against Enma’s cock, waves of peristalsis milked the blurts of seed fated to burst from his cocktip out into her esophagus at a much faster pace. As well, the contents of each of these strands were plunged into innumerable compilations atop themselves at the base of her stomach with an increased frequency. In several short seconds of noisy, semen-mired effort, Shizune brought about the ‘end result’ she had envisioned for herself well ahead of schedule. The combined efforts of her throat and esophagus saw to her stomach’s fattening with semen, and her inexplicable infatuation with the substance (and a certain ninja art) subverted her disgust when backdrafts of the substance became spilling out of her face.

Several seconds spent enduring the brunt of this consequence was all that she needed. Not long after accelerating proceedings to this point, Tsunade acted to ensure that their massage was brought to an end properly.

Having taught Shizune a great deal of her technique, the former Hokage was also aware of what Shizune would endure if she remained pinned to the root of Enma’s cock. All the same, doing this was the easiest way to ensure that the contents of his release did not go to waste…

Assuming she were alone.

With two of them present, several more tantalizing options became available to them. Content to sit back in anticipation of whatever option Shizune selected, the final die that she cast created an ideal opportunity for her to reinject herself.

Right as the discharge of semen from Shizune’s orifice progressed past a certain severity, Tsunade reached out with both hands to roughly wrench her skull out of its shameless throatfucking metronome once and for all. Much to her surprise, her (Shizune’s) lips spluttering from off of his glans revealed Enma to be just short of a complete release.

Ahead of disgust and dismay, the sight of this brought a single utterance of excitement to mind.

_“Perfect_ _♥_ _.”_

Without so much as a chirp on the subject, Tsunade pressed Shizune out of position with an ingress of her own. Plugging her own lips with the tip of his cock, she hungrily depressed the semen-glazed phallus down to another ridiculously pleasurable hilt down her throat. No less efficient than her subordinate, she welcomed his shaft’s engorgement of her esophagus with comparable ease, and responded to the dousing of her guts with squirming clumps of ‘fresh’ semen with as cute a squeal of pleasure as her aged frame was capable of mustering.

She did not believe any of these squeaks to be inappropriate, either. What she was enduring was not a basting of her esophagus with unruly strands of chewable nut. It did not precede her esophagus hopelessly swallowing the substance into heavy splatters against itself at the base of her stomach. Remnants of the grotesque resin did not cling to the inner lining of her esophagus, and half of her stomach’s volume was not consumed in accommodation of the lumpy tadpole-sludge that continued to tumble into it.

As had been the case from the beginning of her shared ministrations with Shizune, the impetus for her giggling was the satisfaction that she derived from reducing one of her patient’s to bleary-eyed delirium with only her hands…

So stated her mind at the request of a technique too powerful for it to withstand.

Whatever her beliefs on the actions she had produced, the quick transition of Enma’s cock from the depths of one orifice to another proved a potent enough experience to drag him out of his latest stupor.

Fairly stated, even the most draining and significant of his orgasms were not especially novel to him. However troublesome, the unpredictable nature of his ability had allowed for him to build up an impressive tolerance for sexual pleasure over time. Thus, though his latest orgasm was no less satisfying than those that had come before it, Shizune’s aggressive exacerbation of its progression did not tempt his frame into a panic. Instead, this reaction was reserved for the sudden reconfiguration of the esophagus flesh milking his shaft, and the reappearance of full strength convulsions he believed himself to be well past.

A single glance downward explained what had occurred in its entirety. Rather than allowing Shizune complete control over his second orgasm, Tsunade involved herself with it of her own volition. At this stage of his release, little could be done about the event. In the moment, his best option was grinning and bearing it—no matter how strenuous doing so became.

Strictly speaking, this task was not beyond him. All the same, doing so while a pair of disapproving eyes stared up at him as framed by a face caked with semen and smeared by pubes did not make it any easier to approach.

“I-I hope you’re satisfied. You just got a medical treatment that most people would have to wait weeks for. You should do your best not to waste Tsunade-sama’s effort at your job; both of us ended **up totally clotted with that lotion** because of this—a-all because you couldn’t feel good without it.” Shizune complained, voice congested by semen.

“We’re probably going to end up stinking of it, too. Or, I suppose that’s more likely for me, I guess. You’ll be comfortable for a good long while, so I suppose it’s all worthwhile, though. That said, I’d prefer it if you pretended that this didn’t happen if we ever have to see each other in public again. Without Tsunade-sama, it’d be…a little hard to explain.”

Shizune did not know it, but Enma’s lips had been sealed on the events from the moment it began.

Even if he did decide to tell someone of what he had enjoyed, no one in their right mind would ever believe him.


End file.
